A Taste of Family
by LoraLee2
Summary: This is set after A Taste of Home but you don't need to read that one first. Reid's father is in an accident leaving him with temporary custody of his teenage sister.
1. THE NEWS

THE NEWS - PART ONE

THE NEWS

Chelsea carefully smudged the shadow under her mime's chin and eyed it critically, she'd spent all her classtime and several study halls over the last week working on this project. The moment she'd started the charcoal drawing she'd known this was going to be the most important piece she'd ever done. Just yesterday Miss Paola had declared it her best yet. At the end of the month they'd finish assembling her portfolio to send to art school.

She'd finally convinced her father to allow her to apply on the condition that she take several business electives over the summer break. He had guaranteed her that she would thank him both when she was making her way as a starving artist while waiting for her big break and needed to make every penny count, and later, when she was selling her work for millions of dollars and could understand what her agent and business manager were telling her.

She was debating whether or not to add a bit more detail to the face when the door opened behind her - sometimes it was so hard to tell when a piece was done - she looked over her shoulder to see two police officers standing there, 'huh,' she thought, 'I wonder which one of the jocks got in trouble this time?' They crossed the room and whispered to the teacher. 'This is wrong, they always just come in and say who they want.'

The teacher looked at her, walked over to her. Chelsea swung to face the officers, "What is it? Is it Mom? Dad? What's wrong?"

"Chelsea, these officers need to speak to you out in the hall."

"No, tell me what's wrong. What happened?"

"Miss, we're sorry to have to inform you, your parents were in a car accident this morning. They're in the hospital. If you'll come with us, we'll drive you over there."

She struggled to keep her knees from collapsing beneath her, "How bad?"

"We really don't have any details, Miss. All we can tell you right now is that they're both in surgery."

The teacher placed her hand on Chelsea's shoulder, "Go, dear, Janie can take care of your things; right, Janie?"

Janie thrust Chelsea's purse over her shoulder and responded, "Yes. Of course. I'll put everything in your locker, and get all your homework and bring it to the hospital on my way home. Just go."

She saw Miss Paola start to spray the fixative on her mime as the officers led her from the room. 'I guess it's done.'

&

Reid walked into the bullpen with some trepidation, it was ten o'clock on a Thursday night and normally they would have gone straight home from the airport, but Garcia had called the plane saying that he needed to come to the office first. She'd refused to explain, but had told him it was urgent, not a word she used lightly. She'd asked Hotch to come as well.

He looked behind him, as the rest of the team trailed behind him, ostensibly to catch up on paperwork, but he knew there would be no paperwork done tonight, they were here to support him. Just knowing that they'd all stand behind him like this gave him a warm feeling inside, but it wasn't quite enough to dispel the anxiety caused by Garcia's unusual behavior. He saw Hotch tilt his head towards the bullpen, signaling the others to wait there, as he and Reid passed through heading to Garcia's office.

They didn't get that far. Somebody, probably Morgan, who'd been in the other car, must have called Garcia from the parking lot, because she came down the hall to meet them. "Reid, I -- I probably should have told you this while you were on the plane, but I didn't know how. I still don't know how." Reid paled, Garcia looked like she was about to burst into tears. Garcia was very emotional, but usually she was happiness personified, Reid began to panic, whatever she had to tell him must be pretty bad.

She looked at Hotch, pleading in her eyes. He stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, "Penelope, it's okay, just tell us what happened."

She nodded and took a deep breath, she turned to face Reid, "Your father and stepmother were in a serious accident this morning. They both made it through surgery but the doctors have induced comas to prevent injury from brain swelling, they'll probably be in the hospital, then in physical rehab for at least six months, maybe a year." Reid began to breathe a little easier, he hadn't seen his father in close to sixteen years, since just before his eleventh birthday, and hadn't even known the man had remarried, much less ever met his second wife, and while he didn't wish him ill (at least not since Emily had given him a figurative smack upside the head and made him think about what his father had been like before he'd left) there was no love lost there. This was hardly the life-altering news he'd been dreading.

Garcia took another deep breath before delivering the life-altering news, "Your -- your --" she cleared her throat and tried again, "You have a sister, she's in the conference room." Reid felt his legs buckle, felt Hotch's hands grab his arms to keep him from falling. He leaned against the wall.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he lifted his head from between his knees, he felt Hotch's hand on the back of his neck and the other on his shoulder, he'd seen Hotch do this for victims and witnesses at crime scenes, 'keep 'em conscious if you can.'

He raised his hand to let Hotch know it was okay to release him. He straightened, but kept his back braced against the wall. Reid quickly went over the facts in his mind, due to a genealogy project in fifth grade when he was seven, he knew his father had no other living blood relatives, if the girl was here, they must want him to take care of her, so her mother must not have any relatives either, at least not living in the area. The girl would have told the social worker if she had other relatives. But was she even old enough to tell anyone if she did? She couldn't be a baby, Garcia would have said if she was a baby. He didn't have a clue how to take care of a baby.

He looked at Hotch, knew he'd run the facts as well, probably while he was sniffing his knees trying not to pass out. "I'm responsible for her."

Hotch looked him in the eye, said what he knew Reid needed to hear, "Only if you want to be."

"I want to be." He had no clue how to take care of a child, but it didn't matter, he'd learn whatever he needed to, she was family.

&

Inside the conference room, Chelsea Reid looked out into the bullpen as lights came on, two men and two women walked in, she looked at the men and instantly decided neither was her brother since one was black and the other was too old, Penelope had told her and the social worker a little about her brother, surely she would have mentioned if he was black, and she had said her brother was only twenty-six, the youngest BAU member ever, probably the youngest agent ever. So, these two must be Derek Morgan and Agent Rossi and the two women would be JJ Jareau and Emily Prentiss.

She knew her brother was a profiler, whatever that was, and that he traveled a lot, and apparently he was very smart because Penelope had called him her favorite genius and if he was the youngest person to ever be an FBI profiler it probably wasn't because of his good looks. She wished she'd asked Penelope for a picture, she probably could have gotten one from the database. And Penelope had assured the social worker that her brother wouldn't even hesitate to take her, and that he and the team would make arrangements for her when he had to travel.

She really hated the thought of turning some poor guy's life upside down, but she didn't have anywhere else to turn. She'd thought about applying for emancipation and trying to live in her house alone, but the enormity of the situation had quickly overcome her. She knew she didn't know the first thing about living alone, taking care of bills, balancing a checkbook, what to pay when, what if something broke? Who would fix it? Hell, she'd never even gone grocery shopping alone. She needed somebody to help her. She needed somebody to take care of her.

She'd mentally run through all her friends: Maybe she could stay with Janie, but Janie was pretty sure her parents were headed for divorce, another kid in the mix sure wouldn't help things. Sandra's dad was an alcoholic and gave her the creeps, so she didn't want to stay there. Kelly's mom had to work two jobs to pay the girls' tuition and slept on the sofabed in their one-bedroom apartment so Kelly and her little sister could share the bedroom, no way she could ask them. Danielle rarely even saw her parents, they both had full-time-plus jobs, sixty, seventy hours a week, her parents probably wouldn't even notice if she just moved in, but she was going to need rides to and from the hospital, and then the nursing home/rehab center. She'd gone through every girl in her class, and none of them would really work.

During the four hours she and the social worker had been waiting for their return from California she had decided she really liked Penelope, and if her brother had friends this cool, he must be a pretty great guy. She'd started to feel more at ease the longer they'd talked. But now that he was actually in the building and they were just minutes away from meeting, her nerves had started up again. She hoped she didn't throw up, that wouldn't make a very good first impression.

The social worker patted her hand, Chelsea looked at her and started packing her textbooks into her backpack. She hadn't actually gotten any homework done, but the social worker seemed to be pleased that she was trying. She watched the door expectantly, Penelope had gotten a phone call a few minutes ago, and had gone out to meet her brother, break the news. Apparently he hadn't known about her either. She silently wondered what other secrets her parents had kept from her, from them.

&

Reid placed his hand on the doorknob of the round table room and took a deep breath. He felt Hotch's and Garcia's reassuring presence at his back and was grateful. He concentrated on smiling as he opened the door, the poor kid had probably been passed around from stranger to stranger all day long, he wanted her to trust him right away. Again he wondered how old she was, he'd been ten, almost eleven when his father had walked out, so as much as the thought hurt, if his father had remarried immediately after the divorce she could be as old as fourteen, maybe even fifteen.

He stepped through the door and froze, he felt his heart thud in his chest, "How -- how old are you?"

The girl -- young woman, he corrected himself, stood up to greet him, "Sixteen."

Reid closed his eyes for a moment and allowed the pain to wash through him, then swallowed it and approached his sister, "Sorry, 'bout that, it's just I was afraid you were going to be little," he held his hand up at about waist height. He forced a smile, "Sometimes I don't do so well with little kids." Later he would allow himself to deal with the fact that apparently his father had abandoned _**him**_ when _**she**_ was born.

Reid gestured with his hand for the girl to sit back down and took the chair next to her. Hotch and Garcia took chairs as well, he noted Garcia looked confused at his behavior - he didn't think she knew how old he'd been when his parents divorced, but Hotch did - and Hotch had that look of fatherly concern about him that he sometimes got. Reid nodded his head just enough so Hotch would know he was taking this all right.

"I'm D -- Re -- I'm Spencer, Spencer Reid, this is my friend Aaron Hotchner."

He turned to the social worker, "I assume I'm the only relative in the area and you want me to take --" he turned back to the girl, smiled to try to take the sting from his words, "I'm sorry, Garcia didn't tell me your name yet."

She smiled back, Penelope had warned her that he wasn't very good with meeting people outside of work, and he definitely looked as nervous as she felt, maybe more, but thankfully she'd never been shy, "It's Chelsea, Chelsea Reid."

"Thanks." He turned back to the social worker, "I assume you want to know if I'm willing to take Chelsea? I am. Of course."

Hotch broke in, "I assume you have paperwork Reid will need to fill out?"

"Yes, quite a bit, I'm afraid. Since the FBI does pretty extensive background checks before hiring someone, I've been authorized to turn over temporary guardianship this evening, but we'll have to do our own background checks, interviews and a home inspection, before making it long-term. The requirements for fitness as a guardian are different than for the FBI."

Reid smiled naturally for the first time, "So, I take it you care more about whether I know how to clean the fridge and mop the floor than whether I can shoot straight and drive fast?"

She smiled back, "Exactly, there's some overlap, such as whether you have a criminal record, and the ability to maintain employment, that's why I can let you take Chelsea home tonight, but I'll have to do a home inspection and get personal references as quickly as possible. Since we had time tonight I've already done a personal reference interview with Penelope, she gave you a glowing recommendation.

"Chelsea and I have already gone over her thoughts on the matter, she'd like to give this a try and since you're willing to take her, we can just do the minimum now and go over the details tomorrow?"

Reid nodded, "Right. So what do I need to do?"

Hotch nodded to Garcia, "Why don't you take Chelsea out to meet the rest of the team, while Reid and I look over the paperwork with Miss --" he looked at the visitor's badge the social worker was wearing, "Hammerstein?"

"Sure." Garcia stood up and moved next to Reid, she pressed a quick kiss to his temple and moved some papers in front of him, "I filled out leave papers for you, I didn't know how long you'd want, so I put you in for a week on vacation, I figured you'd need at least that long to get Chels settled in and make arrangements for your parents' care. You and Hotch just have to sign, you're entitled to twelve weeks under FMLA and since you never take any time off, you have eighteen weeks personal leave and vacation time accrued, so if you want more you'll just have to call in and let me know."

"Garcia, you're a lifesaver."

"Don't you forget it, Sweetness."

Chelsea stood up and followed Garcia out to the bullpen.


	2. Arrangements

ARRANGEMENTS

Disclaimer: Usual disclaimers, I do not own any CM characters, I'm just borrowing them and will return them in the same condition as I found them.

Storyline Rules: There will be het smut, there may be violence, mention of drugs and sex crimes -- this is Criminal Minds. There may be mild sideline slash, (probably not this story, but no promises) but it will not involve any CM characters. All CM characters will remain true to character as I see them. All pairings will be introduced as they could naturally occur. This may be fantasy, but I will try my best to make sure anything presented as fact is accurate.

ARRANGEMENTS

Garcia put her arm around Chelsea's shoulders as they walked out to the bullpen. "You are going to love the gang. And don't worry about a thing, they are going to love you to pieces, Sweetie."

Four agents looked their way as they approached, "Hey, guys, I've got somebody I want you to meet."

SECTION BREAK

Reid glanced at the leave request forms and signed them before handing them to Hotch to read and sign, then took the sheaf of papers from Ms. Hammerstein to read through. He was only on the second page, when she spoke up, "You really should read the first ten pages thoroughly, sir, those are the ones I need you to sign tonight, I can walk you through the rest when we meet tomorrow."

Over the years he'd gotten used to being interrupted when reading in front of somebody. He hadn't quite figured out how to preempt the questions about his reading skills, but he'd gotten better at explaining it, "I am reading thoroughly, ma'am. I'm able to read and comprehend up to twenty thousand words a minute, I'm actually reading these much slower than that," he smiled wryly, "There's a lot of legal terminology I'm not familiar with." He paused, "And I have to stop to turn the pages."

Like most people, she looked to Hotch for confirmation, he just nodded and responded, "Why don't we go get some coffee while he reads through the paperwork."

Ms. Hammerstein allowed Hotch to lead her from the room, saying only, "I have to witness your signatures, so don't sign anything until we come back." Reid nodded his understanding and continued working his way through the paperwork that would change him from single adult to 'legal guardian of a minor child under the age of twenty-one.'

SECTION BREAK

Garcia stopped in front of Rossi first, protocol dictated introductions be made in order of rank, and although he'd been with this team the least amount of time, he was second in command after Hotch because he'd resumed the rank he'd retired with. "Chelsea, this is Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi." There was also the benefit of the fact that Rossi didn't know enough about Reid's family to be surprised he had a sister. Poor Chels didn't need to know what a shock she was.

"Agent Rossi," she hadn't gotten close enough to use just one name yet, "This is Reid's little sister, Chelsea, her parents were in a car accident today, so she's going to be staying with him for a few months while her parents recover." Out of the corner of her eye she saw the others quickly cover their startled looks. They'd grill her ruthlessly tomorrow, as only profilers could, but they'd never say a word in front of a stranger - especially a stranger who just happened to be Reid's little sister.

Rossi reached out to shake her hand, "I'm very sorry to hear about your parents, but it's nice to meet you. I haven't known Agent Reid all that long, but he's a good man."

"Thank you, sir."

"Call me, Dave. Please."

She turned Chelsea by the shoulders to face Morgan, "This piece of hotness is Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan. He's also your brother's best friend, I'm sure you'll be seeing a lot of him."

He placed both hands over hers, "Call me Morgan, I'm always honored to meet a beautiful young woman. Sorry about your folks, but I promise you, my buddy Reid'll take good care of you. And if he doesn't, you let me know and I'll kick his -- backside for you; got it?"

Chelsea nodded and smiled at the casual flirting she'd been warned about. Funny, she'd just met him, but he already felt like an overprotective big brother, just like Penelope had said he would. "Thanks."

Emily stepped forward and reached out her hand, "This is Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss. She, JJ and I are going to have to take you shopping this weekend. Your brother's place isn't exactly teen-girl friendly."

"Absolutely. Call me Emily, we're going to have a great time getting to know each other."

"And last, but not least, this is Special Agent Jennifer Jareau. She's the team liaison slash communications slash media specialist. She's the one who keeps the media at bay and the local boys under control. There's nobody in the world better at subtle manipulation than our JJ, you can learn a lot from her if you watch carefully."

"Garcia! You're going to make her think I'm some kind of --" Garcia raised an eyebrow and she laughed, "All right, all right, I'm a master manipulator. But only at work. Off the clock, I'm just the girl next door."

Chelsea responded to the friendly smiles of these people she didn't know yet, her brother's friends. She hoped they really would become her friends as well.

SECTION BREAK

Reid looked up as Hotch and Ms. Hammerstein came back into the conference room. They sat down and Hotch questioned Reid, "Any questions about the paperwork, Reid?"

"If my father and his wife don't 'wake up' I'll be responsible for Chelsea until she's twenty-one?"

Ms. Hamerstein responded, "Yes and no. As a foster parent, you have the right to discontinue and if there's cause the agency could remove her from your care. And she may decide to move out when she turns eighteen, particularly if she doesn't go to college."

Reid smiled more to himself than to her, "Oh, she'll be going to college." In his mind that wasn't an option. "So, I'll be legally responsible for her until she's at least twenty-one, and realistically, until she graduates from college at about twenty-four or -five."

"Nine years is a long time, Reid. You're sure?"

He nodded, "I'm sure."

He turned to the social worker, "Until she's eighteen, you'll be able to do home inspections at any time?"

Again, Ms. Hammerstien responded, "Yes. We do announced and unannounced visits. They'll be more frequent while the two of you are getting settled, and they'll stop when Chelsea turns eighteen. At that time she's legally an adult and the agency ends its involvement. Chelsea's been in a stable environment until now, as long as you can continue with what her parents have started, she should continuing growing into quite a capable young woman."

This time Hotch responded, "We're pretty much family here, anything Reid can't teach her or give her, somebody else will step in to help with."

"That support is going to be very important. One of the things we look for in a placement is a good support system for the new 'parent'. It's going to be hard for both of you to adjust, and family, biological or not, makes the transition much easier. Any other questions?"

"Not a question." Reid flipped back a couple pages to where he had crossed out several lines, "I don't want a stipend to take Chelsea. She's my family, not a way to make money. I don't need financial help to take care of her, and I don't want her to _**ever**_ think that that's why she's with me." He initialed the crossed-out section while she watched.

Ms. Hammerstein smiled and nodded, in her line of work she'd placed hundreds of children with strangers and relatives, and rarely had she had such a good feeling about a placement where the parties hadn't been close before. She didn't know what had caused the estrangement between father and son, but obviously the son had developed well in spite of it. She watched as the young man picked up his pen and began signing and initialling the papers that would - at least for the time being - change his life.

SECTION BREAK

Reid and Hotch walked into the bullpen after escorting Miss Hammerstein to the elevator. Hotch smiled, Morgan was in the middle of telling Chelsea a story involving Reid, a bureau car, a cow and a tree in rural Kansas. Of course it hadn't been funny at the time, for Reid anyway.

Reid stopped short, muttering, "Damnit."

Everybody but Chelsea stared at Reid's uncharacteristic outburst, "What is it, man?"

"I can't take Chelsea on the subway, especially this late at night."

Morgan looked around the room, "Well, I'm out, I rode my bike in, the two of you wouldn't fit together, even if you were willing to get on it."

"Morgan, do you know how many motorcycle --?"

"Yes, Reid, I do know. You've told me a hundred times." As he spoke Morgan noted that little sis seemed excited about the prospect of a motorbike ride and promised himself to talk Reid into letting him take her out for a spin sometime.

Hotch smiled wryly and pointed to his office where they knew his eighteen-speed bike hung on the wall, "Me too. I was planning to get a cab home."

Emily offered, "I go by your neighborhood, Hotch, I'll give you a ride."

JJ pulled her keys from her purse, "Well, Garcia lives in the other direction, so that means you guys are with me. You ready?"

Reid smiled, other than getting to spend extra time with JJ, he thought she was probably the best suited to helping him help Chelsea settle in for the night.


	3. Settling In

SETTLING IN

SETTLING IN

Reid unlocked the door and flipped on the lights, moving immediately to the alarm system beside the door. Punching in his eleven-digit code, he told Chelsea, "I'll teach you the code in the morning, let's just get you settled in tonight." He looked quickly to JJ, seeking her approval. She smiled back at him, telling him he was on the right track. Tonight was for getting Chelsea comfortable, tomorrow they could work out house rules and the more technical aspects of security involved in living with an FBI agent.

"Spence, have you still got hot chocolate in the cupboard?"

Reid smiled, when the team had helped him redecorate - all right when the team had redecorated - his apartment, they'd learned most of his secret vices, the fact that he was addicted to hot chocolate at night as much as coffee during the day was only one of them. After all, who could resist liquid chocolate? He knew for a fact that JJ, Emily and Garcia all agreed.

Chelsea stood near the doorway looking around while JJ headed for the kitchen. Reid closed and locked the door while watching Chelsea carefully, trying to gauge her reaction to her new temporary home. Well, she didn't look horrified, so that was good, right?

Reid watched as JJ took Chelsea's arm and led her towards the kitchen. "You and I are going to go fix some cocoa while your brother changes the sheets and finds you an oversized t-shirt to wear to bed. Or would you prefer sweats? I'm sure Reid's got a pair with a drawstring somewhere."

"Anything's fine. I don't want to be a bother. I wish I'd gotten to go home and pack a bag, but today's been …"

"You just relax and let us take care of you tonight. Tomorrow Spence'll take you to the hospital to see your parents, then you guys can swing by your house and pick up some things. You'll have a better idea of how much stuff you need to bring over here after Spence talks with their doctors."

Reid listened as carefully as he could to JJ's subtle directions. He really had no clue why he was taking the sheets off the bed after sleeping on them only one night, but if JJ thought it was significant enough to mention, he'd go ahead and do it now and ask her about it later. He dumped the bottom sheet in the washer of his small apartment-sized too-small-to-do-two-queen-sized-sheets-at-the-same-time, stacked washer/dryer combo and started it before searching through his drawers for something a girl her size could wear. He might be skinny, but she was a lot skinnier.

He found a pair of pajamas that the girls had bought him as a gag gift when he'd gotten the cast off his leg a few months ago after a near-fatal incident, they were light blue with kittens and the words "nine lives" all over them. He supposed they were cute, as far as that went, but they'd obviously picked them up in the women's department and despite his lack of fashion sense, even he wouldn't be caught dead wearing them. Luckily they had a drawstring waist so with the legs rolled up they should work fine.

He could only catch snatches of the conversation, but silently added visiting his father and stepmother (it felt so weird thinking that) to tomorrow's agenda. He had called earlier and spoken to the nurse on duty and given his cell number in case they needed to contact him before morning and had arranged to meet to discuss their short- and long-term care with the doctor after his rounds in the morning, but he hadn't given any thought to actually _**visiting**_ his father, after all he was in a medically-induced coma, they wouldn't be having that long-overdue heart-to-heart any time soon. He hadn't thought about the fact that Chelsea would need to see them. Probably frequently.

He took the clean sheets from the trunk at the foot of his bed and made the bed. Once he'd finished smoothing the blankets and his mariner's compass quilt over the bed, he laid the pajamas on the pillow and headed to the kitchen for hot chocolate with JJ and his little sister.

SECTION BREAK

Reid won the argument over whether or not he should walk JJ back downstairs to her car: Her side, she was an FBI agent, it was a secure building and she could take care of herself - his side, his mother raised a gentleman and besides, it was _**his**_ secure building so how was she going to stop him?

In the elevator, "I can't believe you kept the p.j.s."

"Why not? I keep all my gifts. Besides, I just knew someday I'd have a pretty girl in my apartment who'd think they're cute."

JJ snorted, "Yeah, right."

"Okay, maybe I just liked the sentiment behind them."

"Two down and counting?"

"Seven more chances. Now, a baseball theme and I'd have been shaking in my boots."

"You don't like baseball?"

"Three strikes and you're out? Huh-uh. I like nine lives better."

"Just be careful not to use up any more for a long time; okay?"

"Keep the count at two, check. One question?"

"Shoot."

"Why did I have to change my sheets? You don't even know if I'd slept on them."

"Like you'd get up and change them before you left for work? Nobody's that anal retentive."

The elevator doors opened and they started across the parking garage, "Okay, you got me. I changed them the night before. So, why'd I change them again?"

"She's a teenage girl."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed that."

JJ used the remote to unlock her car door as they approached. "She's used to dealing with teenage boys."

Reid checked the back seat of JJ's Jeep before opening the door for her, "I still don't get it."

JJ slid into the vehicle and patted Reid on the cheek before saying, "Think about it for a minute, Spence. What do all teenage girls assume all teenage boys do in bed at night? She does not want to sleep in a bed that a guy's slept in without changing the sheets."

Comprehension dawned in his eyes, "Come on, JJ, I'm twenty-six, give me some credit."

She smiled at his discomfort, this was definitely not something he talked about, ever, "_**I**_ know you're twenty-six, _**she's**_ still sixteen. Which means she'll figure the only reason you wouldn't be not doing that is that you're not sleeping alone -- double-yuck. You've known her for three hours, are you ready to explain to her that guys outgrow leaving messes behind?"

He let his head thunk on the B-pillar of her car, "What have I gotten myself into?"

She ruffled his hair, "It'll be okay, Spence. Just remember that right now, as scary as this is for you, she's twice as scared. Yesterday she didn't even know you existed, she has no idea what you're like, you could be the world's biggest bully and she's just been put in your complete control. You have the power to change her whole life around, pull her out of her school, cut her off from her friends, turn her into your house slave in exchange for room and board, refuse to let her see her parents, steal her college fund.

"Bottom line, right now all you have to do is be nice to her and assure her that her parents are going to be fine and that the two of you will figure everything out until they're ready to come home."

"JJ, they might not get better."

"Spence, you know that. I know that. Right now there's a scared little girl upstairs who does not need to know that. So, until the doctor tells you different, you are to assume that they'll be fine in a couple months. And that's an order."

Reid smiled, "I think you're forgetting, I outrank you."

"Only at work, when it comes to dealing with teenage girls, I outrank you by a long shot."

"Okay, you got me there. I'm just afraid I'm going to do something stupid and screw this up."

"It's going to be a big adjustment for both of you, but you'll get through it. And if you need anything just call, the whole team's here for you."

SECTION BREAK

"Hey, Chelsea, I'm back." Reid made sure to call out as he came back into the apartment, given how jumpy he tended to get over the last year, the last thing he wanted to do was startle someone else -- well, most someone elses, any time he got to get one over on Morgan was great, and Prentiss was a pretty good target, too. Of course, the one time he'd _**really**_ gotten Prentiss she'd socked him one in reaction. She hit hard.

Thinking of which, he'd better broach the subject with Chelsea before it came up. He found Chelsea in the kitchen drying the cocoa mugs, "You didn't have to do that, I would have gotten them."

"It's okay. I figured you'd want them done tonight," she looked around a little uncomfortably, "you keep it awful clean in here."

Reid noted the look in her eyes, he'd seen it plenty of times when someone was dealing with someone with OCD, it made you afraid to leave anything out of place.

"Trust me that's out of necessity, not desire. After you come home from a case to find fuzzy dishes trying to make their way out the kitchen door, you learn to wash them after every meal. Dirty clothes go right in the washer then the dryer, because if damp towels get left in a hamper for three weeks, there's no saving them. I dump the garbage down the garbage chute every night before bed, because if I get a call at three a.m. and leave town for a week, that empty milk carton stinks to high heaven. I go through my mail right away because I don't know when I'll get back to it."

He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a coffee cup, a saucer and a juice glass, he put the cup on the table upside down, set the saucer on it, and balanced the juice glass on top. "See, things being out of place don't bother me. If you need to move something, so you can reach it better, go ahead and move it. Now, that's not carte blanch to be a slob, but it's okay if the place looks lived in."

He could see her visibly relax and decided his little Jenga demonstration had been on the right tack. "Um, there _**are**_ a couple things we do need to talk about though, well one thing really." He saw her tense as he sat at the table, "It's not anything you need to worry about, but you do need to know about it before it comes up." He held his hand out toward the chair across from him and waited until she sat. This was so hard; he hated talking about this with anyone.

"Do you know what post-traumatic stress disorder is?"

She nodded.

"Well, it's pretty common with my job, I -- sometimes I have nightmares. They can sound pretty bad." She looked concerned, "They actually look and sound worse than they are." This was a blatant lie, the team had told him how bad they looked and sounded and they were actually worse, much worse, but his little sister did not need to know that.

"The only thing is, if I have one when you're around, do not try to wake me up. I'm usually dreaming about being in a fight," actually he was usually staring down the barrel of a gun or being beaten to death, but she didn't need to know that either, "sometimes I wake up swinging. I don't want you to get hurt by accident."

"Dad always told me that waking someone up from a nightmare isn't really doing them a favor because we only remember dreams when we wake up during or right after them."

"Exactly. So, even if they seem bad, I'd rather sleep through them and not remember, than wake up to someone telling me 'it's only a dream,' okay?"

She nodded again.

"If you ever do have to wake me up, just say my name and maybe throw a pillow at me."

She smiled at the thought of chucking pillows at her new brother, "Deal. Anything else I need to know?"

Reid thought for a moment, what did the team tease him about, that might cause problems? "Um, I'm not really awake in the morning until I've had at least two cups of coffee, and I'm going to be very strict about the alarm being on and the locks being locked at all times. Criminals tend to take the easiest route, so just locking the door will send most of them looking for an easier target." He grimaced at the thought of having to explain to Morgan that he'd gotten ripped off by a teenager looking for electronics to pawn for his next hit.

"How about you, anything I need to know right off the bat?"

She thought for a moment, "I'm a teenager, I like my music loud, get all emo for no reason at all and like to stay up all night and sleep till noon. Oh, and I'm a phone hog."

"Well, I think we've covered the stay up all night part tonight, but I want to be out of here by eight-thirty tomorrow, so decide how much time you'll need in the morning and set the alarm." As he spoke, he took a paper clip from his pocket and pulled an end out so he could reset the alarm on his watch. "I'll be getting up at six-thirty to start the coffee and fix some breakfast."


	4. People to See, Places to Go

Places to Go and People to See

6:30 a.m.

_Beep-beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep-beep,_ "Damn it." _beep-beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep-beep,_ Reid jabbed at the buttons on his watch a few times before ripping it off his wrist and stuffing it under the couch cushion. He shoved himself into a sitting position and rubbed wearily at his eyes. "Work," he mumbled, "gotta go t' work."

He pushed himself to his feet and staggered toward the coffeepot, pushed the button, then turned and headed for the shower, tugging his sleep shirt over his head as he forced his feet to move in the right direction. He reached the small alcove the washer/dryer was set into and stuffed the sleep shirt inside before stripping off his sleep pants and underwear and doing the same.

"Shower. Gotta wake up." He closed the bathroom door most of the way behind him to seal in the warmth and adjusted the water before stepping into the spray. He managed to get out of the shower before the hot water lulled him back to sleep and grabbed a towel to dry off as he stumbled back toward the kitchen for his first cup of coffee.

He'd barely stepped through the doorway into the kitchen when the strangled squawk/squeal/shriek pierced his awareness. Instinctively he dropped into a crouch and dropped the towel to reach for the gun on his hip, slapping bare skin instead. The adrenalin rush finished waking him up as he looked into the shocked face of his little sister. He clapped his hands over his genitals, turned tail - belatedly realizing he was giving Chelsea a perfect view of his backside - and fled to his room repeating, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

&*&*&*&*&*&

Reid dressed as quickly as he could, then sat on his trunk and hung his head in his hands; he couldn't do this, there was no way he could do this: He'd been responsible for his sister for less than twelve hours, and he'd already traumatized her. She was probably scarred for life. How the hell had he forgotten she was there? Remembering things is what he did; it was what he was supposed to be good at.

Not for the first time in his life, he wished there was someone to tell him what to do. In fact, if his phone weren't in the other room, he'd call JJ and beg for her superior knowledge of teenage girls even if it was only quarter to seven. Instead he tried to imagine what she'd tell him, 'you're the adult, I know you're embarrassed, but you can't hide forever.' Morgan's voice followed, 'suck it up, man, you'll get through it.' Hotch, 'just take it one step at a time, and remember we're all here for you, so if you need anything call.'

Well, without his phone, he couldn't call for backup (or reassurance), but he could do the rest - suck it up, go out there, apologize, and go on with the day's plans as if he wasn't half as embarrassed as he was.

SECTION BREAK

'Holy shit, Janie is never going to believe this.' Chelsea would have called her best friend right away if her cell phone weren't shut up in the bedroom - the one with her runs-around-the-house-in-his-birthday-suit brother in it - with the rest of her stuff. She giggled to herself; he'd really meant it when he said he couldn't function until he'd had his morning coffee.

Her sister's eyes had tried not to look, but her artist's eye and her never-seen-the-real-thing-before eye had conspired against her. 'Those things really did look different in real life than they did in museums.' 'No, no, no, he's my brother. Where is the brain bleach? God, I need brain bleach.'

She poured herself a cup of coffee, adding five spoons of sugar and four of creamer to disguise the bitter taste - her brother didn't need to know that her mom and dad didn't allow her to drink it - after they'd finally said goodnight and gone to bed, she'd tossed and turned for what felt like hours, she really needed something to get her going today. She pulled a second mug from the cupboard, filled it with coffee and set it on the counter next to the sugar and creamer before sitting down at the table.

'Okay, Chels, he's going to come back in here, and you're going to pretend it didn't happen. He'll never know you looked. And he definitely doesn't need to know you have almost perfect recall of what you see. I mean almost nobody has that kind of memory, so he won't be expecting it. Just give him his coffee and forget it ever happened and go on from here.'

She looked at the list on the table of the things they would need to do today: First they would go to the hospital and talk to her parents' doctor. Spencer and JJ had said they'd have a better idea of what was going to happen after that. She assumed that meant how long she'd be living here. Then they'd go to her house and pick up some of her clothes and personal items.

JJ had promised that she, Penelope and Emily would help her pack up everything she would need to bring back here Saturday. She had assumed that they'd just pick up a few things since it really wasn't that far to her house, but JJ had explained that they never knew when they'd get called away for a case or how long they'd be gone, so when they had the opportunity to do something they didn't wait, because it could be weeks before they got another chance. Basically the same thing Spencer had said about keeping the kitchen clean (without the threat of mold and mildew).

On the one hand it sounded kind of exotic, never knowing when the next adventure would be, where you'd wake up tomorrow. On the other, it must get tiring sleeping in strange beds all the time, never having a home-cooked meal, heck, he probably couldn't even count on watching his favorite tv show. What was his favorite? Did he have a favorite? He must have one, anybody with a giant flat-screen tv had to have a favorite tv show. Not to mention the bookshelves full of DVDs and books in the living room. And judging by the number of books he had, he must read a lot, too.

SECTION BREAK

Reid took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. "Um, I'm really sorry about that, it won't happen again."

"Well, you did warn me you weren't really awake before you have your coffee."

"Yeah. Um, I'll leave a note for myself before bed tonight." Reid felt his face heat as he broached the other side of the subject, "Um, you've had health class in school; right? Um, I mean -- I -- um, if you have any questions -- well, I don't know if you've ever seen -- what I mean is --" he ran his hand through his hair in frustration, he could coax every last detail out of a violent crime victim without stuttering or making her cry but he couldn't ask his sister a simple question?

He picked up the coffee mug on the counter to give himself something to distract himself. With his back to her it was a little easier and he forced the words out, "Okay, I'm just going to say this, I don't know if you have any experience with boys, but if you have any questions - about what happened this morning or anything else - you can ask me. I'll answer." He paused to breathe, the worst was over "it may take me an hour and a half to spit it out, but I promise I'll answer," he continued with a touch of humor in his voice. "And if it's something I don't know the answer to, or if you don't want to ask me you could ask JJ or Emily or Gar -- no, don't ask Garcia, but you can ask JJ or Emily."

He sipped the coffee, then carefully proceeded to add sugar, a lot of sugar, this was going to be a long day.

SECTION BREAK

8:30 a.m.

Reid tried to be aware of the effects of the hospital setting on Chelsea, the beeps and hisses of the machinery were mere background noise to him after all the time he'd sent in various hospitals interviewing victims, but he knew Chelsea didn't have that experience to insulate her from the horror of seeing her parents hooked to wires and tubes, their every breath and heartbeat monitored.

Carefully, he explained what each of the machines was for, from the pulse/ox monitors on their fingers, to the catheters emptying their bladders. He picked up their charts and evaluated the treatment and care they'd received over the last twenty-four hours. He led Chelsea to one of the two visitors' chairs in the corner of the room and reassured her that the treatment choices - some of which she, as the only known next of kin, had been responsible for making - had been the proper ones.

He explained the short-term prognosis from the chart, but decided told her he wanted to wait until he had talked to the doctor before discussing the long-term prognosis, even though he had a pretty good idea what her -- their parents were facing from the list of injuries and treatment they'd already received.

He tried to ease the pain that was evident on her face as she looked at the parents who had loved and cared for her, her entire life. He felt so sympathetic for her pain, but in a way he was also jealous of the purity of the emotions she showed. She looked at them and felt the love of a happy home and everything that went with it. Yes, her security had just been pulled out from under her, but at least she'd had sixteen years of security, at least she understood why her life was being turned upside down.

He looked over at his father and wanted to feel nothing, he wanted this to be a stranger who he didn't have to care about, instead he felt too much:

He felt anger at his abandonment, how do you trade one child in for another; swap one wife for another? He felt the confusion of hearing his parents fight over who would take him, _"__take Spencer with you, just for a little while." "Don't do this." "You're weak." "You're right."_

He felt sadness at the time he had lost with both his father and his sister, wondered what kind of connection could he have shared with this woman who'd been his stepmother for the last sixteen years, but whom he'd never met?

He felt sympathy for the injuries they'd sustained, the pain they would be in when they woke.

But most painful and confusing were the remnants of the love he had shared with this man who had read him bedtime stories, taught him to ride his first bicycle, taken him to the park and the zoo, wanted him to be a little boy in spite of his I.Q. With all his intellect he still couldn't fathom why he had gone, or why he had left Spencer behind when he did.

SECTION BREAK

Chelsea looked down at her parents' too-still bodies as she listened carefully to her brother's explanations of the contents of their medical charts to her. She had tried so hard to understand everything yesterday, and the doctors and nurses had been wonderful when it came to guiding her through the decisions she had had to make, but it was such a relief to hear Spencer agree that those decisions had been the right ones, that the doctors hadn't led her to the easy options or pointed her towards choices because of insurance.

In her social sciences class last month they had studied the differences between socialized medicine and a privatized medicine, there had been such horror stories about people suffering and dying because the socialized system didn't cover the treatments they needed or they didn't have good enough insurance in a privatized system.

She thought her parents had good insurance, but it was one of those things they had never talked to her about so she didn't _know_, right now she really wanted to _know_. She wanted to ask Spencer what would happen if they didn't have good enough insurance, but she was too afraid - her dad had left him, just thrown him out like yesterday's trash - what if he said, 'no insurance? Tough.'

He'd been great to her, but she didn't know if that was because of, or in spite of, the fact that she was his father's daughter. What if -- what if he hated his father for leaving and her mother for taking him away? What if felt like he'd be happier if they just dropped dead?

She looked at him looking at her parents, their parents; he looked so lost and confused. She couldn't imagine having all this being dumped on her out of the blue, 'hey, your dad, who you haven't seen in years, may be dying, and oh, by the way, here's the little sister no one ever told you about, take care of her.'

Both their lives had been turned upside-down in the last twenty-four hours and nothing was ever going to be the same again.

SECTION BREAK

Trauma surgeons see despair all the time. Our job isn't to prevent it - by the time we're needed it's far too late for prevention - but to make it as short-lived as possible. I step into the Reids' room, and saw the family sitting; the boy had the charts laying on his lap and was looking at his parents. I didn't know the whole story - I rarely do - but apparently he had been estranged from his father and stepmother for some time. The girl hadn't even known he existed until the social worker had told her about him shortly after the surgeries had been completed.

She'd been very brave yesterday, quite intelligent, she'd taken in what I and the other doctors had told her about her parents' conditions and asked intelligent questions before signing release form after release form for their treatment. I knew she didn't quite understand everything, but she trusted us enough to follow our suggestions. When I'd gotten the message that they'd be here this morning, I instructed the nurse to have a copy prepared so the brother could re-sign the papers. It's a formality, but one that I've learned is very necessary.

I step into the room and they look up at me and stand. If I had seen them together on the street I would have known instantly they were brother and sister: Same hair color, although his was a bit on the long side, hers was significantly longer; his eyes were more hazel than her brown; but the bone structure, it was the bone structure that stood out, their faces were so similar, hers a bit softer than his, but still amazingly similar.

They were both impossibly thin. Yesterday I had worried that the girl was undereating, teenage girls do tend to diet constantly, but she had shown no signs of anorexia, bulimia or any other form of eating disorder - in fact, the nurses had worried that the vending machine down the hall was going to run out of snacks - but standing next to her brother I could see it was genetics.

I approach and reach out for the charts the boy holds and he hands them over quickly, willingly, I wonder how much he understood of what he'd read. Some families understand nothing at all of the charts, others with medical backgrounds most of it, I prepare myself to spend the next hour trying to explain the complexities of the drug cocktail keeping their parents unconscious and the reasons why it was necessary, the nature and extent of their injuries.

He shocks me by asking about the extent of the subarachnoid hematomas suffered and the results of the EEGs monitoring their brainwaves, and whether I felt the stents draining the excess fluid from their brains were likely to be necessary for long, if the fractures to William's right tibia and fibula would prevent PT, which he'd like to have passive motion exercises started today if possible so they'd lose as little muscle mass as possible while they were recovering.

I find myself pleased to be spending the next hour _discussing_ long-term treatment plans and prognoses, and which facility would be best suited to their long-term care rather than trying to explain what was happening today in the layman's terms that sometimes failed to convey the exact situation. He not only understands what's happening with his parents, but he's able to convey that information to his sister with honesty and compassion and doesn't seem to mind that she has to ask for clarification of the things he understands the first time.

Unfortunately, it's too early for me to be able to tell them exactly how soon their parents will be able to go home, right now the best I can tell them is six months to a year - if there are no complications - and even after they're allowed to go home they may still need to continue physical therapy for a year or more and need extra help with daily living.

It was going to be hard to accept for two of the top trial lawyers in the state. I mention that the treatment plan should consist of regular mental health counseling sessions to help them deal with the emotional trauma as well as the physical. He grimaces slightly at the mention of psychotherapy and I have to wonder if he's had a bad experience with it somewhere along the line. He agrees to the necessity though and asks who I recommend.

When they leave I'm confident that this young man not only has the best interests of my patients in heart, but a clear understanding of what that was.

A.N.: I don't work directly in the medical profession, but as a transcriptionist, my job does requires research into many different areas, including medical, so the medical terminology here is accurate and reflects a small portion of the treatment that would be required after a severe head injury. However, if anyone with more direct knowledge spots a flaw p.m. me and I'll be glad to make any corrections needed.


	5. Discovery

DISCOVERY

AN: When I started this William was going to be a researcher, spoilers on Criminal Minds Fanatic prove he's a criminal attorney - but not which side. I've got a fifty/fifty chance here: I picked defense attorney because Reid didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps, so he chose the other side.

**Tune in to CBS this fall to find out the truth.**

DISCOVERY

11:00 a.m.

Reid took one step through the front door and stopped. Someone had tossed the place. Bad. He felt Chelsea try to come in after him and turned around, "Chelsea, I want you to go back to the car and wait for me."

"What's wrong?"

Unsure how to tell her that her home had been broken into, not to mention the greater implications of it having happened within twenty-four hours of her parents being hospitalized, he simply said, "I'll explain in a couple minutes," he pulled his car keys out of his pocket, "I want you to go sit in the car for a few minutes." He wondered how to say this without frightening her and decided there really wasn't a good way to do it, "Get in the driver's seat, lock the doors and start the engine."

"What?"

"Please just do it. I promise I'll explain later."

He tried to stop her as she pushed to his side, but wasn't able to keep her from seeing into the entryway. He caught her as her knees buckled. "Chels, Chels, it's okay."

She shook her head as tears sprang to her eyes, "No, it's not." He pulled her into a hug, letting her sob into his chest for a moment, but he really needed to get her out of harm's way. He maneuvered her back out to the porch, he left the door ajar, he'd probably obliterated any prints on the handle when he'd opened the door, but there might be something usable and he didn't want to chance messing them up.

He kept a watchful eye out as he guided Chelsea back to his car and decided to call Hotch and the local police and wait for backup before going in. Whoever had done this should be long gone, but he still didn't want to leave Chelsea alone while he cleared the house. Right now, keeping her safe and calm was more important than searching the house for the intruders. He helped her into the car while he pulled his phone from his pocket, she really didn't need to hear the conversations he was about to have.

Reid dialed the local nonemergency police number from memory and waited for "1-0-9 Precinct, how may I help you?"

Reid spoke quietly, hoping to keep his sister from hearing, "This is Special Agent Spencer Reid of the FBI, I need a couple cars and CSI on a silent roll-out to 17 Beacon Street, there's been a break-in and I have reason to believe it's connected to a hit-and-run yesterday involving the owners, Sergeant LaFavre is handling the case. I have the victims' daughter with me, so I'm not able to clear the house, it's possible the unsubs are still in the vicinity."

Reid confirmed an E.T.A. for the officers and disconnected before hitting speed dial one for Hotch.

&

1:00 p.m.

Reid lifted a torn couch cushion and spoke to the man on the other side of the room, "Thanks for coming out, Morgan."

"Hey, you yell, I come running. That's how we work. Besides, I know I wouldn't want to be profiling a scene in my Mom's house alone.

"Do you thing Chelsea'll be okay?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine, JJ's got her down at the diner. You know how good she is with victims."

"I know. It's just -- I mean yesterday I didn't even know where my father was, much less that I have a sister and stepmother, and today my little sister is a victim and my ward. Somebody just tried to murder her parents, our parents - I can't even believe how weird it feels to say that - and here I am finishing tearing her house apart after some bastard already violated every bit of privacy and security she has."

He looked around the room, it seemed like anything that wasn't broken was covered in fingerprint dust. He'd thought Chelsea was going to cry when they'd taken her prints for exclusion purposes.

"You know we have to do this. Every inch of every room is trashed, that means they didn't find what they were looking for. Our best chance of keeping Chels safe is to find it first. Otherwise, they're gonna think she has it and come looking for her. And right now, you're her security, so you've got to keep it together, man."

Reid picked up another torn cushion, felt around inside it, hoping against hope to find whatever the unsub had been looking for. "I know. Maybe we could fake it? Just carry out a box, and take it straight to Quantico? If anybody's watching, they'll figure they're too late."

"As a last resort, buddy. I mean we can narrow it down to something pretty small based on what they ripped apart trying to find it, but it could be anything."

"Well, they tore the hard drive out of his computer, so it's got to be some kind of file. They might have been looking for a memory stick or a flash drive."

"Right. In which case, we wouldn't need a box, we'd just pop it in a pocket or an evidence pouch."

Reid ran a gloved hand through his hair, "Right, right."

"What does your dad do anyway?"

"Criminal law. He's a defense attorney, this was probably one of his clients."

"Or a client's friend, or a victim, or family of a victim. That's not exactly going to be a short list."

"Let's just grab everything paper and electronic and get it out of here. We can get someone at the bureau to go through it."

Morgan made a small noise in the back of his throat.

"You're right, Hotch would let me slip it through, but Strauss'll have a cow if she finds out." He ripped apart another pillow, thinking. "Okay, I have an idea."

Morgan looked at his friend, devious was usually not in his nature, but when he put his mind to it, the things he could come up with were amazing. "Okay. Talk to me."

"I go in, tell her I think I'm too close to the case, so I might be overreacting, I need her opinion. Butter her up just a little bit, tell her I think her judgment on this would be much clearer than mine, but that it could be some kind of botched attempt at extortion or trial-fixing, would it be better to have someone give it a once over just in case?"

"Could work."

"If I play it right, she should be just worried enough about missing something major that I caught, that she'll ask WC to give it a once over just to make sure I can't come back and say she blew me off.

"Sounds good, and Carson's guys are good, they'll do it right and make sure we stay in the loop. Let's run it by Hotch when we get back. And remind me never to play poker with you."

Reid chuckled, "You know you tell me that every time we play poker."

"I know, maybe someday I'll listen to myself."

They set themselves to gathering every piece of paper from the office and boxing it up.

SECTION BREAK

"Chelsea, I know this is hard, but I need to ask you some questions." JJ took a minirecorder from her purse; Officer LaFavre had agreed to let her interview Chelsea as long as she recorded it. "Are you ready?"

The girl looked up from the plate of gravy-covered fries she was playing with and nodded. JJ had never gone solo in an interview, but she'd been involved with enough of them to know what questions needed to be answered and, more importantly, she had established trust with the girl last night. Hotch had approved her doing the interview without question.

"All right. We're going to go through the last week one step at a time; okay?"

Another nod, a squeaky, "Okay."

"Now, I want you to tell me about Monday, first thing in the morning what did you do."

"You mean like I got up, took a shower?"

"Exactly. Every last detail; you got up, took a shower, then you --?"

SECTION BREAK

"Reid," Morgan's voice drifted out from the office closet, "you need to see these."

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure."

Reid crowded into the four-by-four closet to see what Morgan had found.

"There's got to be two, three hundred of them."

Reid looked at the box and counted subconsciously, "three hundred and ninety-six."

"You count -- never mind, of course you counted them that fast. Did you know about these?"

"No." His voice fogged up, "No, I had no idea."

SECTION BREAK

JJ felt exhausted and could see Chelsea felt the same. They had walked through Chelsea's week with excruciating detail, not stopping until they reached the point where the two of them had sat down in the diner an hour earlier. She plugged the recorder into her PDA and sent a copy to Garcia, who would keep a copy for the team and forward the file to Officer LaFavre.

For the most part Chelsea hadn't seen anything unusual and her parents hadn't acted oddly at all, but she had seen a telephone repair truck parked a few houses down three days in a row, but there hadn't been anything wrong with their phones. Garcia was checking now to see if there had been a work order for the street or not. She was also running a line check to search for any illegal wiretap that might have been put in place.

While she was on the phone, JJ also called to warn Morgan and Reid to watch out for one pussycat named Crookshanks.

SECTION BREAK

"Uh, Morgan."

"Yeah, Reid?" Morgan smiled at the tone of Reid's voice.

"I think I found it."

"Found what?"

"The cat."

'Yep,' Morgan thought, that voice definitely said, 'I found it, now what the hell do I do with it?'

Morgan walked into Chelsea's bedroom, the damage was heavy in here, stuffed animals torn apart, jewelry box dumped on the floor, the only thing that seemed undamaged was the giant pillow on the center of the bed, one of those ugly hairy things that appealed to teenage girls for no reason he could see.

"Where'd it go?" He could hear purring, but didn't see any sign of the cat; Reid must have scared it under the bed or something. He prepared himself for scratches, there was nothing in the world more ferocious than eight pounds of scared tabby cat, and it was a sure thing that Reid wasn't going to go after it.

Reid gave him a dirty look and pointed at the center of the bed, "On the bed."

Morgan started toward the bed in disgust, "That's a pillow, man. Now, help me find the cat.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty." He made little chirping noises with his lips, ready to smack Reid if he laughed at him. He'd just knelt down to look under the bed when the pillow started moving.

"Told you."

"Holy shit, that thing's almost as big as Clooney."

"Yeah. I noticed. What am I supposed to do with it?"

The gentle giant walked to the edge of the bed, pushed his face against Morgan's and mrowed at him. Morgan stood up, pulling the cat toward his chest. It burrowed its face into his shoulder, its hind legs hanging down to his waist. He estimated it weighed about twenty pounds, biggest damn cat he'd ever seen. Morgan scratched behind the cat's ears and was rewarded with a massive purr. "What did JJ say this handsome fellow's name is?"

"Crookshanks, it's named after Hermione Granger's cat in Harry Potter. The cat was apparently very intelligent, it helped Sirius Black, who was hiding using his animagus form of a dog to try and trap Peter Pettigrew who had been masquerading as a rat for the last twelve years after framing Black for the murder of thirteen muggles and Pettigrew himself."

"Reid!"

Reid stopped talking.

"It's a cat. Now quit stalling, get your scrawny ass over here and pet it, so it'll get to know you, 'cause it's going home with you whether you like it or not."

Reid approached warily. He'd never had a pet as a child so animals in general tended to make him nervous, which of course made him produce pheromones that made the animal nervous, and then things always seemed to go downhill from there. He understood the physiology of it, he just couldn't figure out how to change it. So, he approached Morgan and the cat hoping desperately that it wouldn't reach out and start clawing at him.

He watched the way Morgan was stroking the large cat and tried to mimic the movements of his hand in the thick fur. He smiled as his efforts were rewarded by even louder purring than before. Well, okay, it seemed to like him, maybe having a cat around might not be so bad after all.

A.N.: My Crookshanks is a Maine Coon Cat, the largest domesticated cat; adult males weigh up to 18 pounds. They are called gentle giants because despite their size they're very good-natured and make wonderful pets.

Go to (verismocat) (dot) (com) (htmscripts) (slash) (leo-guinness) to see pictures of Leo the Guinness record holder for longest cat.


	6. Driving Lessons

DRIVING LESSONS

DRIVING LESSONS

2:45 P.M. 

Reid turned to look at Crookshanks' cat carrier buckled into the back seat of his turquoise Volvo. Morgan, in a Bureau SUV behind him, had a box of papers they'd gathered before heading over to the diner to meet JJ and Chelsea before splitting up. Morgan and JJ would bring the papers they had collected back to the BAU while Reid and Chelsea, along with Crookshanks, would be going back to the apartment for their five o'clock meeting with Mrs. Hammerstein.

Reid looked anxiously at his watch as he got out of the car, he had wanted to pick up some groceries and do a thorough cleaning before she arrived, but the extra time spent searching Chelsea's house had put the kibosh on that idea. By the time they got back to DC, they'd have just enough time to pick up a gallon of milk, a box of cereal and a loaf of bread, fortunately the freezer was well-stocked, so he did have food in the house - as required when fostering a child - even if the fridge, itself, was empty. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd have enough time to wipe down the bathroom and scrub the toilet before she got there.

JJ and Chelsea walked out of the diner as he and Morgan pulled up in front of the diner. Chelsea hopped right into the passenger's seat and buckled up, but he felt a frisson of dread run through him as JJ sauntered around his car instead of going to Morgan's SUV behind him. She walked slowly enough that Morgan had plenty of time to get out of the SUV and join her as she leaned down to talk to him through his open window. He sank down in his seat, feeling the blush starting even before she spoke.

"Hey there, Lady Godiva, how's it going?"

"Godiva?" Morgan laughed heartily, "You been holding back on me?"

He kept his eyes focused on the steering wheel as he braced himself for the merciless teasing that was soon to follow. "No." He'd learned long ago that the less he said, the less ammunition Morgan would have to use against him.

"Come on, spill."

"It's nothing." He knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that JJ wasn't going to tell all right then and there but he didn't have to _**help**_ humiliate himself.

"You know I'll just get it from JJ if you don't tell me."

"It's not a big deal. I just need to change my morning routine. It's not going to happen again."

"Uh-huh. So, JJ, what'd he do?"

JJ stood up, this kind of announcement was much more fun as a parting shot, "Weeeell, let's just say I found out something new and interesting about our resident genius."

Morgan followed JJ's lead and pushed back from the car window, "Come on, you're killing me. What's the big secret?"

"Turns out, Mr. Modesty is a closet nudist."

Reid banged his head against the steering wheel, while Morgan gaped at him. "You're shittin' me."

"Nope, apparently somebody prefers to air dry after his morning shower."

"Reid? Nooo, can't be."

"Uh-huh, and it seems he really can't function without his morning coffee, 'cause he wanders around naked till he finds it."

Reid let them go on for several minutes - it was better to let them get it out of their systems - before looking at his watch and saying, "Okay, abuse Reid time has been fun, guys," he put the car in gear, "but we need to get going, we're barely going to have time to beat Ms. Hammerstein to my place as it is, forget about cleaning the apartment or getting groceries."

Morgan leaned back into the window for one last parting shot, "Okay, Bud, _**see**_ you later."

SECTION BREAK

Reid checked over his shoulder carefully as he merged onto the highway. Driving wasn't one of his favorite activities and never would be. He was competent, he had even passed the FBI training course with high marks, but he tended to get tunnel vision too easily. One minute he'd be driving along and the next some fact about a case would pop into his head, grab his full attention, and -- well, at least the only thing he'd ever hit was that tree in Kansas, or at least as far as the team knew that was the only thing he'd ever hit. What was the big idea putting rural mailboxes right out next to the road anyway?

"Are you mad at me?"

Reid's head whipped around, "What? What would I be mad at you for?"

"For telling JJ about this morning."

"No. No, why would I be mad at you for that?"

Chelsea looked at her newfound brother in disbelief, "I kind of figured you'd be really pissed at me the way they were going on about it. I wouldn't have said anything, but JJ said I needed to tell her everything that's happened in the last week and --."

"No, you did the right thing telling JJ. I was going to talk to her or Morgan about it myself."

"But the way they were teasing --."

Reid actually laughed, as annoying as the constant teasing could be, he couldn't imagine his life without it. "That was nothing. Now that JJ's started with the Lady Godiva thing, Garcia'll probably buy me a long blond wig.

"What? But she --."

He took one hand off the steering wheel and placed it on her arm, "Hey, it's okay. It's what we do; if it happened to Morgan, I'd be razzing him just as bad." He thought for a moment about what he'd be able to do with that kind of ammunition, "I'd probably slip a pair of Joe Boxers into his desk drawer with a note, 'never leave home without them'."

He paused a moment, "I should probably be careful opening my desk for a --" Reid was cut off as the car jerked violently to the right. He felt the rumble strips beneath the tires and pulled the wheel back to the left, narrowly avoiding the large black vehicle that had just struck them. He looked over at the dark SUV next to him as he signaled to pull over to exchange insurance information.

He swore as the vehicle swerved to strike them again. Six months of intensive driving lessons kicked in as he swerved and accelerated to avoid the attack. Unfortunately he was driving his mother's ancient Volvo not one of the well-maintained Bureau cars, still he managed to retain control as the rear of his vehicle jolted with the next attack.

He blocked out the sound of Chelsea's scream in favor of concentrating on keeping the vehicle on the road. The random thought flew through his mind that her seeing him naked suddenly seemed much less traumatic than it had eight hours earlier. He yanked the wheel to the left cutting in front of the other vehicle, causing the other driver to instinctively slam on his brakes.

Reid accelerated and used the few seconds he'd just gained to looked over at Chelsea, she had a death grip on the panic handle above her head and her lips were pressed tightly together, probably to avoid screaming again and distracting him. "Chelsea, I need you to listen to me."

He fought the adrenaline racing through his system to keep his voice steady, he needed to keep her calm, "I need you to get my phone out of my bag. We have to call Morgan and JJ." The bag had been thrown from the seat and lay at her feet. "Pull my bag back up on the seat." His gun was also in there and if the SUV managed to push them off the road he'd need it.

He jerked the wheel back to the right as the SUV accelerated to ram them again. He hoped they'd fall back to try to ram him from behind again. He heard Chelsea whimper as she pulled her left hand from the panic handle and reached for the strap of his bag. She opened the flap and fumbled around inside until she found the phone. "Good girl. Put it on speaker and hit three."

Two rings and, "Hey, Godiva, what's --?"

Reid cut him off, "Morgan --" the grinding of metal punctuated his speech as he shouted the code for officer under fire, his heart soared as he heard the motor of Morgan's vehicle roar as his partner gunned the engine. With luck Morgan and JJ were only a minute or two behind them. He heard JJ in the background calling 911 for backup. Help was on the way, now all he had to do was keep Chelsea and himself alive long enough for it to arrive.

He scanned the empty highway ahead for options and spotted a long-shot waiting for him. He debated with himself, he'd only have one chance and if it didn't work the results could be disastrous. The SUV came up behind them again and he made his decision; his Volvo was no match for the SUV and at the speeds they were traveling there was no way Morgan was going to be able to catch up before they were forced off the road or his engine blew.

He yelled, "hang on," and slammed the brakes hard as he cranked the wheel all the way to the left. He felt the car's rear swing around in a controlled skid as momentum overrode friction bringing the car into a near-perfect J-turn. When the car was at a ninety-degree angle to the roadway, he jammed the accelerator and shot into the emergency U-turn cut-off. The Volvo fishtailed, but managed the maneuver without flipping. He watched in the rearview mirror as the SUV's anti-lock brakes refused to catch and the SUV shot past and came to a stop nearly a hundred feet north of the cut-off in the left lane.

He called out his new direction of travel to Morgan as he accelerated back the way he came. In order to follow, the SUV would have to back up to the turn or drive the wrong way, which even with so little traffic was a risk, both for an actual accident and attracting unwanted attention. It also increased the probability of Morgan catching up - of course the guys in the SUV didn't know he had backup on the way - but they also didn't know how many motorists traveling the opposite direction had dialed 911 on their cell phones.

Reid breathed out a sigh of relief as the driver of the SUV gave up the chase and resumed traveling north as Reid and Chelsea headed south.

SECTION BREAK

4:45 P.M.

Morgan parked the SUV as close to the elevator as he could get, ignoring the large "Residents Only" sign. They were still a good thirty feet away, but the large SUV couldn't get any closer without taking the risk of getting blocked in.

Reid climbed out and heaved a sigh of relief: Scratch the groceries and cleaning, Reid was just thrilled to have gotten Chelsea home in one piece. Crookshanks had _**finally**_ stopped yowling, hissing, spitting and making a wide variety of other noises Reid had had no idea a cat could make. The car hadn't fared quite so well, it was currently on its way to the Bureau evidence lot with the right rear quarter panel residing in the trunk and he was reasonably sure his car insurance didn't cover kidnapping attempts.

Morgan got out of the driver's seat leaving the motor running as JJ smoothly took his place. Reid pulled his gun from where it was now holstered at his side and slid from the passenger's seat, Morgan was right, they weren't in the clear until he had Chelsea safely ensconced in his apartment and had cleared that space as well, and he would do well to remember that. He moved carefully up the rows of cars toward the elevator as Morgan moved back towards the entrance.

JJ kept Chelsea in the car as Morgan and Reid quickly cleared the small parking garage. When Morgan signaled the all clear and started to head back to the vehicle, JJ turned off the car, pulled her weapon and urged Chelsea to follow her out of the car and waited silently as Morgan used the remote to open the rear of the SUV. He then did something his mama would chastise him for if she'd seen it, he handed the heavy cat carrier to Chelsea. Before releasing the carrier he spoke quietly but firmly to the shaken girl, "Chels, I want you to listen to me," the girl just nodded, "Reid and I just checked, there's nobody here, but if I tell you to run, you drop the cat and head straight for the elevator, you got it?"

"But I can't leave --."

"Chelsea, honey, this isn't a debate. People first, animals second. Somebody tried to grab you today, it's you they're after, not the cat. Now, we're going to keep you safe, but that means you have to listen to us. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, if one of us tells you to run, you run. If we say get down, you hide behind a car."

Chelsea nodded her understanding. "Now, JJ's gonna stay right with you no matter what happens, so you listen to her. She'll get you on that elevator and up to the apartment. You get inside and you lock the door and you do not open it unless JJ says to, got it?"

Chelsea's voice was soft but clear, Morgan was pleased to hear a bit of her big brother's strength, "Straight to the apartment, lock the door."

Morgan nodded to JJ, who put her arm around the girl and led her toward where Reid stood holding the door to the vacant elevator open with his foot, while he covered their progress. Morgan followed them swiftly, walking backwards to cover their backs. It was a very long ten seconds to the elevator.


	7. Visitors

ch8

VISITORS

4:47 P.M.

Reid opened the door and entered quickly. He felt JJ and Chelsea at his back as he reset the alarm and moved to holster his sidearm. Morgan brought up the rear and closed the door behind them. He took the cat carrier from Chelsea, "I'm going to put Crookshanks in the bedroom, I don't think we should let him out until after Ms. Hammerstein leaves, I don't want to have to chase him around the building if he gets out of the apartment.

Reid backed into his room as he spoke, fighting to get the large animal carrier through the door without scratching the paint. He made it through the doorway and turned to find a place to set the carrier down. His heart leapt into his throat and the carrier fell from his hand as he spotted the person standing on the far side of his bed. His hand was halfway to his sidearm before he realized it was Garcia.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He realized he was yelling, but this was just one scare too many for the day.

"Cleaning. Didn't Emily tell you I was in here?" Her voice was strained as well, she may not go in the field, but she did spend all day every day around FBI agents - scaring jumpy men with guns was dangerous.

"No, I haven't talked to Emily all day," he said tiredly, leaning back against the doorframe and closing his eyes. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but why are you cleaning my apartment?"

"Hotch said you were going to be held up talking to the cops about your parents' place getting broke into. I wanted to make sure you'd make a good impression on Mrs. Hammerstein, so I asked Hotch if I could come over and tidy up a bit. Emily came with me, we -- we picked up some groceries. I also partitioned your computer - Hotch wanted me to make sure Chelsea can't accidentally get into your FBI or research files."

"Oh. Good." Well, at least that was one worry off his mind. Mrs. Hammerstein wouldn't be taking Chelsea back because he didn't have enough food in the house. Well, two actually. Considering the subjects he wrote about, she really shouldn't be exposed to any of it.

Garcia looked at her friend more closely, noted the signs of tension he would try to hide from the world. She walked to him, put a gentle hand on his arm and tugged him away from the door. She looked out the door catching Morgan's eye before closing it and pulling Reid over to sit on the bed. She sat beside him and probed gently, "Come on, tell me about your day, before you explode."

"I can't, Garcia. Chelsea needs me and the social worker is going to be here any minute, I need to change."

"Hey, my Hazel-eyed Hottie, you are talking to the Oracle of Organization here. Chelsea's with the guys, she's fine; the house is clean; there's plenty of good food in the fridge; Emily's putting your dinner in the oven as we speak; and Morgan and JJ can surely open the door for Mrs. Hammerstein. Right now you need to relax before you shoot someone by accident."

Reid nodded silently, took a deep breath and started talking.

SECTION BREAK

Morgan nodded to Garcia as she closed the door, hiding her baby boy away from the world. He felt a little bad for not remembering that Emily and Garcia were going to come over and tidy up for Reid, but he'd honestly expected them to be finished hours ago.

"Hey, guys, what took you so long? The social worker is going to be here any minute."

"I'm just glad we got here first. Reid was having conniptions thinking she was gonna take Chelsea away because they weren't here when she arrived."

"By the way where is he?"

JJ looked toward the bedroom, "He found Garcia. They're talking."

Emily noted the closed door, "Oh good. If Garcia can't get him to relax nobody can."

Chelsea had been watching this interchange with interest, "Are they dating?"

Her question was met by a chorus of no's, laughter and a slight growl from Morgan.

JJ slung an arm around Chelsea's shoulders and led her into the kitchen, "Come on, let's see what these guys picked us up for dinner and you can ask us all about your brother while we wait for the social worker."

"Chicken cordon bleu casserole, one dish, minimal mess, and it'll hold in the oven until Mrs. Hammerstein is finished. Do you cook?"

"A little."

"Great, this is a really easy recipe, I'll teach it to you."

SECTION BREAK

7:30 P.M.

Reid closed the door behind the social worker and heaved a sigh of relief. The social worker had given his apartment a white-glove inspection worthy of any drill sergeant. Thank God Emily and Garcia had come over and cleaned for him. He'd had a few moments of sheer terror when Mrs. Hammerstein had considered pulling Chelsea from his guardianship after they had explained the new developments of the break-in at his father's house and the unsubs attempt to run them off the road.

Fortunately, JJ, along with Morgan, Prentiss and Garcia had stayed. The moment Mrs. Hammerstein had started to show doubt about Chelsea's placement JJ had stepped in. Reid doubted even The Amazing Kreskin himself was any better at subtle manipulation than JJ.

He couldn't believe how quickly she had pointed out that Chelsea was very fortunate that Reid had tactical defensive driving training, and not one, but six trained FBI agents who would be available to keep her safe. Not to mention that Reid had more than enough time off available to accompany Chelsea to school so she would be able to finish the school year safely. Not to mention that Reid already had a high-tech security system in place and lived in a secure building.

Morgan waited until JJ had Mrs. Hammerstein convinced before he added that by placing Chelsea in another home, she would be exposing everyone in that home to danger, whereas Reid was a fully-trained FBI agent who would be able to handle any threat to his little sister.

Mrs. Hammerstein had conducted interviews of himself, Morgan, JJ and Emily then taken the nickel-tour of the apartment. Reid felt like his entire life was being put under a microscope as she looked in the fridge and cupboards to see if he had an adequate and proper food supply, walked through his bedroom to check for inappropriate materials laying around.

He nearly had a heart attack when she opened the door to the seven by eight "closet," that would be Chelsea's room once his research materials were removed and it was furnished. He opened his mouth to explain, but fortunately Garcia noticed and clapped her hand over his mouth before he could blurt out that the photos of dead naked women were for a criminal justice research paper, not some perverted version of wallpaper. "Relax," she'd whispered, "we boxed it all up."

SECTION BREAK

Emily swallowed a bite of chicken cordon bleu casserole. "I know the room's a little small, but we'll pick up a customizable floor-to-ceiling unit to maximize floor space and storage; light colors; maybe some mirrors to create the illusion of space. And of course, Chelsea'll be able to pick out any colors she likes. Throw some posters up on the walls, and it's home sweet home.

"JJ, Garcia and I'll take her shopping while you guys clear out the room."

"You can't take Chelsea out without me."

This earned him three glares, and a boy-did-you-step-in-it smirk from Morgan. "Excuse me? You did happen to notice that JJ and I went through the same FBI training that you did?"

"I --."

"JJ smokes you on the firing range every time."

"I know that, but --."

"Who have the unsubs not seen?"

"You and Garcia, but --."

"Which two people in this room stand over six feet tall, and are therefore easiest to follow?"

"Morgan and me. I know."

"Sweetcheeks, we'll take good care of her. I promise."

"I know, Garcia. She's my sister, can you blame me for being protective."

Garcia walked around the table to kiss his forehead, "You're a good big brother, but you have to trust us."

"Reid," Morgan felt this was a good time to cut in with logic. "Chances are very low that they managed to follow us here. They've see you and me, and we're pretty noticeable, they haven't seen Garcia and Prentiss at all, and throw a wig on Chelsea and they can just walk out of here, no problem. JJ meets them at the store and the chances of them being followed are about …" Morgan deliberately left the sentence hanging, knowing Reid's brain wouldn't be able to resist the calculation.

"About three point two percent, if she wears a blond wig and Garcia does her makeup to look like _**her**_ little sister. Add a pair of glasses and striking clothing, it'll go down to between two and two point five."

"See, trust our girls. They'll keep her safe."

"And if it was Desiree or Sarah?"

"I'd worry, but I'd let them go because it's the safest way."

Author's Note:

This is the dish that Emily taught Chelsea, if you enjoy cooking give it a try.

2 1/2 cups cooked chicken breasts, chopped

2 cups cubed ham (I use a nice ham steak)

16 oz. bag of frozen broccoli, optional

1/2 lb. Swiss cheese, shredded (If you don't care for Swiss, use your favorite)

1 can cream of chicken soup, condensed

8 oz. sour cream

Use 8X8X2 (9X11 if you add the broccoli) baking dish

Mix chicken and ham (and broccoli) in bottom. Sprinkle cheese over top. Mix sour cream and soup and pour over top.

May be refrigerated overnight.

Bake at 350 for one hour.


	8. Disguises and Decorations

DISGUISES & DECORATIONS

Author's note: Italicized words in the first section are words Reid is learning by as the conversation takes place.

DISGUISES & DECORATIONS

Reid watched silently as Garcia applied the makeup that transformed his sixteen-year-old sister into a twenty-seven-year-old Bohemian. Her chestnut hair had already been covered by a shoulder-length curly blond wig with a bright red stripe running down her left temple.

Garcia had supplied a bright, tie-dye skirt and blouse that looked like they were made out of scarves, the matching _**handkerchief hems**__, _looked really good on her and disguised the fact that it wasn't the right size. Of course Garcia had fixed that too, she'd taken out a needle and thread and pinched the material into a _**pleat**_ in several places around the waistband and with a few _**basting**_ stitches - wasn't that what you did to a turkey? He'd look it up later - and suddenly it fit perfectly. To tighten the top she wrapped a wide red belt around Chelsea's waist and gathered the fabric. A few tugs and the outfit looked like it was made for her.

The new outfit was topped off -- bottomed off? by a pair of red sandals donated by JJ. Actually his favorite pair of her shoes, the ones that did that something special for him, and he really wasn't sure he liked seeing them on his sister's feet. Especially with her finger- and toenails freshly painted in fire engine red.

Garcia and Emily were dressed to the nines as well. Emily had curled her hair and was wearing a bright red V-neck tank top, with black pants and was actually wearing jewelry. She had on a big red beaded necklace that looked like she borrowed it from Garcia with matching dangling earrings.

Garcia, not to be outdone, had on a lemon-yellow sundress with flames running along the hem and V-neck neckline and tapering down over her left breast. She'd left her hair down and curled it.

With the similar hairstyles and the same style of dress the three could easily be mistaken for sisters, which was the point. IF the unsubs had followed them home, and IF they were watching, they would be looking for a brown-haired sixteen-year-old girl, possibly wearing dark glasses and a ball cap, keeping her head down, traveling with her big brother-cum-bodyguard - they'd never expect three women out for a day at the mall.

There was only one problem that Reid could see, "Garcia," she looked over at him, "is there anything you can do about the -- her --" he waved his hand up and down in front of his sternum, "you know?"

Garcia smiled back at him with laughter in her eyes, "Sorry, Toots, I can't do anything about the neckline without ruining the lines. Your little sister has cleavage today. You're just going to have to live with it."

He thought about making some smart remark about not having to like it, ran the potential responses through his head and decided the momentary satisfaction of complaining wasn't worth the risk. Garcia had four older brothers who had probably been overprotective of her and Chelsea had never had an older brother to be overprotective before, either or both of them could easily take anything he said the wrong way. He was trying to think of some response that wouldn't be construed as too overprotective when he was saved by the bell -- well, saved by the knock.

Garcia walked to the front door to let Hotch while Reid pulled Emily off to the side, out of Chelsea's hearing, "Do me a favor, Emily? Don't let Garcia let Chelsea get anything quite that low-cut."

He realized his mistake the second he saw the evil glint in Emily's eye. From his vantage point of six inches taller then her (with her heals), he was easily able to see that Prentiss's top was actually cut much lower than the ones Chelsea and Garcia were wearing. He watched in terror as she looked down at her own, um, cleavage, then back up at his face.

"Why, Spencer," she purred, "are you trying to tell me you don't like the way I'm dressed?"

He felt the flames of embarrassment shoot up his face and lick around to engulf his ears, "I -- uh -- I --" there was no answer, if he said yes, that's what he was saying, they'd call him sexist and tell him a woman should be able to dress any way she liked - not to mention he didn't lie well; if he said it was fine for her but not his sister, they'd call him a hypocrite - and he guessed they'd be right; if he said no, he liked it, then that might qualify as sexual harassment - even if she had started it and he didn't mean it that way, and it wasn't like he was looking on purpose, and there was nothing wrong with liking -- "I -- you -- but --."

"Reid," he swung his head towards Hotch, praying the more experienced man would save him, "as your legal counsel, I advise you not to answer that question if you want to live to see tomorrow." Reid flashed a silent thank you at his boss and reached out to take Jack from his arms. He hadn't seen his little buddy in weeks - and the women weren't as likely to hit him while he was holding a child.

"Good morning, Chelsea," Hotch walked over to Chelsea and looked her up and down, he smiled at her before addressing Garcia, "You do good work, Garcia, better not let anyone from covert operations see her, they'll try to steal you away from us."

She beamed under the praise and promised, "Oh, no, Hot Stuff, I am perfectly happy where I am."

Reid noticed Chelsea gaping at the sexually-charged endearment, He just shook his head, but Hotch half-smiled and shot back, "Hot Stuff? I thought that one was reserved for Morgan?"

Garcia grabbed Chelsea's hand and headed for the door with a smirk on her face, "Not in those jeans, sir. Not in those jeans."

Emily didn't know whether to be more shocked at Penelope's audacity - although Hotch in jeans was a thing of beauty - or amused at the look on Reid's face as the ladies raced for the door.

Hotch waited until the door closed behind them and called down to tell Morgan they were on the way down.

SECTION BREAK

Morgan watched as Prentiss, Garcia and one hot mama he would never have guessed was Reid's little sister if he didn't know who was supposed to be with the other two women. He watched the other people on the street, looking carefully for anyone watching the trio too closely. The three were laughing heartily as they approached Emily's silver sedan making him wonder what his baby girl had done or said as they were leaving.

There had been a lot of debate the night before over the plan for today's exit from the building. Garcia's car would have fit better with the personas they were affecting for the day, but the fire engine red convertible stood out _**too**_ much, there would be no chance to blend in with traffic if they thought they were being followed. One of the SUVs was actually the safest vehicle if they tried again, but it also looked like the Bureau SUV they had been in yesterday.

He'd follow along the same route about thirty seconds behind as they made their way to the USA Mall in McLean. It was the third largest in the country so they should be able to find everything a teenage girl needed without having to get back on the road. JJ was waiting at the food court to join in the shopping fun (and for an extra gun on guard duty) and when they were finished shopping they'd call Morgan and he'd come back to recon the parking lot and he and JJ would tail them home.

SECTION BREAK

Chelsea bit her lip as they entered the furniture store. She knew exactly what she wanted, but she wasn't sure if it was a good idea, maybe she should just go with something plain and simple. Yeah, it would be a guest room when she went back to her parents' house, she shouldn't stick Spencer with what she wanted. Besides she didn't have any idea how much it would actually cost, but she knew it wouldn't be cheap.

She scanned the store for bedroom sets and walked toward a plain-looking bed set in a light pine. It had a bookshelf headboard and there was a matching dresser and nightstand, the room was too small for the dresser, but she'd need the nightstand to put a lamp and a couple books on. The light wood color would match well with Spencer's other furniture. After moving around the store surreptitiously checking price tags she came back to it. "I'll get this one."

She watched as Emily waved to the salesman who had been hovering nearby. He quickly rushed to Emily's side saying, "The young lady would like this set?"

Emily led the man to the canopy bed she had fallen in love with when she entered the store and said, "Actually, I think the young lady would like this one, if you have it in walnut?"

"We certainly do, Madam."

Chelsea gaped, she did want that one, in walnut, but how on earth had Emily known. She'd been really careful not to spend much time looking at it.

Garcia came up behind her, "Get used to it, Toots. Sometimes profilers know what you want before you do. Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"But that one's too expensive. And it doesn't go with the rest of Spencer's things."

JJ put her hands on Chelsea's shoulders, "Honey, this is your room. Your brother wants you to be comfortable in it. It doesn't have to fit his taste, it has to fit yours."

"But it's still too expensive."

Emily was negotiating with the salesman to arrange delivery of the matching shelving units, and on-site assembly for later in the week. She followed him to the office and handed over Reid's credit card to finalize the transaction.

Emily finished with the salesman and turned back to the group, "Okay, linens next, then paint, then lighting."

"Emily, really I like that, but this is Spencer's house. I can't just get whatever I want. I have to get what he'd like."

"Okay. Change of plans - lunch first, then linens." JJ and Garcia each took an arm and led the young woman from the furniture store. Seems some little miss was going to be quite as pig-headed as her big brother. But since they knew how to handle the brother, the sister should be easy. A practical demonstration should do the trick.

They had intended to hit the food court for quick and easy, but instead Emily led the way to one of the higher-class restaurants with the announcement, "It's not every day the team gets a new little sister, I think we need to celebrate. My treat today, girls." Sometimes having a nice trust fund was very convenient.

As expected Chelsea balked when she saw the prices on the menu, but that was easily solved by ordering salads and the house specialty, a delicious lobster bisque, followed by a seafood sampler platter for four. Normally at this type of restaurant they would have ordered wine, but reached a silent agreement to go with soda since they were dining with a minor.

Emily decided to start the convincing by asking, "So, Reid'll need what; two three nights at the casino to pay for everything?" She took a bight of her salad as she waited for her team to pick up the challenge.

"I think he went four times to pay when we did the rest of the apartment. Two should do it," JJ replied, quick on the uptake. "So, which one of us gets to take Chelsea first?"

"Oh, she's coming to Casa de la Garcia first, ladies. I already called dibs."

JJ came back with, "Have you told Kevin he's going to have to spend an occasional night at home yet?"

"He doesn't come over every night."

"Yet." Emily proffered, "give it another month and he will be. That man is in love."

"Be that as it may, I am an independent woman, and he's keeping his own place until I decide different."

"Mm-hmm."

"What, you two don't believe me?"

"Suuure we do, Garcia." Emily turned to Chelsea, "Those two fell in love before they even met. It was an amazing thing to see."

"How'd that happen, computer dating?"

The three laughed, "Oh, no, no, no. I learned my lesson with that one. No, we logged onto the same computer, and fell in love with each others' code." Of course she couldn't tell the whole story, as fantastic as it was, since she and Kevin could both get fired, not to mention Morgan, Emily and Reid, Kevin for not reporting her, the others for allowing her to hack her own FBI computer in the first place.

JJ moved the conversation back where they needed it to go, "So, Chels, have you thought about what color scheme you want for your room?"

"Well, I thought I'd follow the color scheme in Spencer's room." The women noted that she looked down at her plate as she spoke, that was what she thought Spencer would like, not what she really wanted.

"Really?" JJ responded first, wrinkling her nose a little, "That's kind of a masculine décor for a teenage girl. When I was your age, I was all white and pink. Oh, and about two million stuffed animals left over from when I was a little girl."

"Oh, not me. My room was a rainbow. Bright primary colors, I even painted the bed fire engine red with purple accents. Oh, and posters of every boy band I could get my hands on. What about you, Em?"

"Oh, god, I would have killed for either of those. Ambassador's daughter. My rooms had to be ready for inspection at any time. Stylish, yet demure. American, but with a dash of local flavor. I remember the year we spent in Turkey, I tried to sneak a hookah in under the guise of local flavor - my mother nearly had a cow. The Turkish rug was gorgeous, I wish I'd been able to appreciate it back then."

"You used to live in Turkey?"

"And Russia, Moscow; then Saudi Arabia, we were there for a while; six months in Hong Kong. I liked Spain, I was actually allowed out with just one bodyguard there, and the dress is a lot closer to American. And summers in the French Alps with my grandfather. We took a few trips over the border to Switzerland; the chocolate really is amazing.

"Of course, Mom transferred back to the States after my fourth or fifth marriage proposal. I think she was afraid I might decide one of the offers sounded good."

"Oh my God, Em, how old were you?" JJ couldn't believe Emily had never mentioned that before.

"That was just before my sixteenth birthday. Ahmed offered twenty camels and three prize sheep if I remember correctly."

"You say that like it's nothing."

"Hey, over there it's how they do politics. You bind families together through marriage to gain allies. An ambassador to the United States would be considered a very powerful ally.

"Good grief, and I thought I had it bad having to be the best at soccer to get a scholarship."

"Well, now we know where the Susie Sioux look came from, but let's get back to decorating." Garcia turned to Chelsea; "You're going to be sleeping in this room every night for next six months or so, not your brother. You're the one who needs to be comfortable in it."

"Actually, the doctor said it might be as much as a year before my parents can return home, depending on their rate of healing, and whether there are any complications from their injuries. If they have an aide come in to help with daily tasks and physical retraining they might be able to come home earlier, which will depend partly on how good their insurance coverage is and partly on what Spencer and I are able to do, and with his job requiring him to travel so much, he probably won't be able to provide much help on a day-to-day basis. And that's if he's even able to reconcile with dad, which I hope happens, but under the circumstances isn't a certainty by any means."

Chelsea stopped talking as the women around her first started to giggle, then broke into nearly hysterical laughter.

"What?" She looked around, "What? Did I say something funny?"

JJ was the first to compose herself long enough to speak, but she sent herself and the others back into fits with, "So, that settles that, he got it from his father."

"Got what from Dad?" She looked from one to the other, "Got what?"

SECTION BREAK

Chelsea finally confessed her desire for a tropical forest mural in her bedroom which required forest green, sky blue, bark brown, and white paint for the trees, sky and clouds, as well as numerous small cans in bright colors for the orchids and hibiscus flowers, as well as parrots and macaws. It also required fifty feet of tropical-flowered garland to wrap around the posts and canopy bars of the bed (which they were able to special order through the craft supply store to be delivered to the apartment by UPS).

And since Chelsea's art supplies were all either at the school or in her parents' home, it also involved a set of new brushes and several tubes of acrylic paints for detail work.

Then and only then did they move on to finding clothing for one teenage girl: Outfits for school; outfits for around the house; outfits suitable to go to the BAU with her brother; and outfits for pretending to be Garcia's twenty-something sister, when she needed to go anywhere without her brother.

So it was that after six hours, one furniture store, one restaurant, one lighting store, one paint store, one art supply store, one crafts supply store, ten teen boutiques, and fourteen shopping bags, the ladies sat sipping Starbucks in the food court waiting for Morgan to pick up their paint, ceiling fan and lamp from the various loading docks at the rear of the mall and signal the all-clear from the parking lot.

From Lessons Learned: "USA Mall. It's the third largest in the country, and it's right smack in the middle of McLean, Virginia." I use canon when I can. There is one of the largest malls in the U.S. in McLean, however it does not seem to have what my team needs, but it's my story, so voila, yes it does.


	9. Out With the Old, In With the New

Out with the Old, In with the New

OUT WITH THE OLD, IN WITH THE NEW

Hotch loaded the last box into the back of his SUV and pulled the bottom of his t-shirt up to wipe the sweat from his eyes. Dave had volunteered to store Reid's research materials with his own. He found it hard to believe that Reid had managed to accrue so many documents in only four years. He slammed the hatch shut and put the hand-cart against the wall near the elevator, Morgan could use it to haul the paint and any other heavy supplies the girls had picked up when he got back.

He thought briefly about going back upstairs and borrowing Reid's shower before going to Rossi's, but Rossi had already seen him at his worst and he would just get all sweaty again carrying the boxes from the SUV to Rossi's storage room. Reid had worried about getting their research materials mixed up, but Rossi pointed out that his files were in file cabinets (his OCD would allow nothing less) while Reid's were in cardboard boxes neatly labeled by article and date, so that wasn't a likely scenario.

Hotch climbed into the front seat and dialed Dave to let him know he was on the way. If he hurried he might make it back before Morgan and the girls, and could take a precautionary recon around the block before they pulled in. He and Morgan had taken turns checking for surveillance over the last few hours, each running across the street to the small convenience store for a paper, then snacks. Morgan had come back from one trip with a six-pack of beer, which while welcome at the time, had meant Hotch's next trip was to pick up soda for Chelsea - Jack was still quite happy with a nice glass of milk and had even graduated to "big-boy" cups without a sippy lid.

Then they'd run out for take-out, Morgan picking up a pizza at one restaurant, and Hotch getting wings at another an hour later. Someone was going to be eating leftover takeout for lunch tomorrow. Late in the afternoon Morgan had run out to the grocery store to pick up a few more staples for Reid and Chelsea. And later Hotch had run to the video store and come back with a few Jack-friendly choices for the group to pick from during/after dinner (he had a feeling no one was going to be racing home that night). He smiled at the random thought of Reid's living room floor covered in sleeping agents in sleeping bags and wondered whether he'd be able to snag the recliner once Dave cried age for the sofa.

He pulled out of the parking garage and swung once around the block before heading off to Rossi's.

SECTION BREAK

Reid listened to Jack vrooming his Tonka truck around the living room as he carefully poured the last of the primer from the paint tray back into the nearly empty plastic five-gallon bucket and closed the lid tightly. He briefly wondered whether it should be transferred to a smaller container and made a mental note to ask Prentiss when they returned.

He'd worried that it would be hard to keep Jack out of the paint, but it had turned out that Jack was far too fascinated with Crookshanks to even think about painting. The two had latched onto each other the moment Reid had set Jack down that morning and had spent most of the day playing tag through the living room, and the kitchen, and Reid's bedroom.

Morgan had joked that since they were roughly the same size, they probably didn't realize they weren't the same species. Reid had replied that as long as the big furball didn't try to eat Jack he'd be happy. (So far, he'd settled for pinning him down and licking the remnants of pizza and milk from his face when Hotch hadn't been quick enough with the washcloth.)

Reid was very pleased that not only did the cat seem to not be bothered by the Reid effect, but he loved Jack, tail grabbing and all. He wondered whether the animal had been around children before, and who that could have been.

He set up a fan near the window to circulate the air and closed the door behind him to keep Jack and Crookshanks from getting into the wet primer. He briefly wished for the opportunity to hop into the shower for a quick rinse, but couldn't leave Jack unsupervised, so he decided to settle for a quick scrub in the bathroom sink.

He started to strip his shirt off, then remembered his disastrous morning yesterday and grabbed a fresh t-shirt first, _**then**_ stripped off his shirt and dropped it in the washer. He was sure he was going to make a fool of himself numerous times in the coming months, but he wasn't about to make _**that**_ mistake twice. He and Jack should be alone for another twenty minutes or so, but he wasn't taking any chances.

SECTION BREAK

Morgan pulled away from the last loading dock and headed for the parking garage. It had taken forever to clear out Chelsea's new room and apply the primer to the walls, mostly because they had wanted to keep checking for surveillance around Reid's apartment. That, and he'd never realized just how many articles his boy had written in the last four and a half years.

The kid had turned red as a stop sign when he'd admitted he averaged an article a month and almost two-thirds of them had been accepted by one journal or another.

Gideon had _**strongly**_ encouraged everyone in the unit to try to publish, he'd said the research would increase their knowledge base, and the writing would improve their communication skills. Guess Reid had taken his advice to heart. He'd have to look some of them up and see what the kid had been up to.

He circled the parking garage once before calling the girls, "Hey, Em, I've got eyes on both cars and the door, I've got no activity out here. Send JJ out, wait five minutes, and bring Chels out."

SECTION BREAK

Chelsea had begun to feel a bit dizzy as she twirled one more time showing off the last of her new school clothes. The activity was familiar, bringing back happy memories of coming home from school shopping with her mom every year and showing her dad her new clothes. The weird part was that she was showing off for her brother and his friends instead of her parents.

She bit her lip and looked at her brother, waiting for his comment. Emily nudged his ribs and he tilted his head a bit before speaking, "I like it. The color looks really good on you. The gold brings out the light flecks in your eyes." She smiled back at him, he'd carefully commented on every outfit, a bit stiff, very analytical, but she had the feeling he'd actually liked them all, just wasn't used to thinking about women's clothing, or complimenting them.

Happily she ran back to his room to put on a pair of jeans and one of the t-shirts they'd bought for hanging around the house in and rejoined the group in the living room.

When she came back Garcia was excitedly trying to explain the mural Chelsea wanted to design for her room. He brother was leaning forward listening intently as the older woman spoke, gesturing with her hands to show the magnitude of the project. He saw her come back into the room and turned to her with what she would swear was excitement in his eyes, "You really know how to do that?"

She bit her lip and nodded. "I'm an artist."

"That's amazing. What do we do first?"

Pulling the computer chair out, she began explaining the process of painting a mural, including the vine patterns she wanted paint on the blades of the ceiling fan before it was installed. She looked at Morgan, "Emily said you'd know how to install it? I would have asked first, but Emily said we needed to pick everything up today, and Penelope said she knows you wouldn't mind. And --."

Morgan threw a look at Reid, knowing where this was going, "Chelsea," he interrupted much more softly than he did when Reid started doing this, "I'll be happy to install your new ceiling fan. I'll put it up as soon as the painting's done. It won't even take me twenty minutes."

"Okay. Thank you."

Hotch stood up and rubbed his hands together, "Well, we've got too many people to all paint one room, JJ, Prentiss, can you and Rossi, whip up something for dinner, while Chelsea and Garcia teach Reid, Morgan and I learn how to paint a mural?"

Prentiss jumped up and headed for the kitchen, she had picked up the ingredients for several dinners and gauged the mood of the room. The men were tired from hauling boxes, the women were tired from shopping, and the day wasn't done yet, meatloaf and baked potatoes it was.

SECTION BREAK

"So, you're an art major?" The ladies had retired to the kitchen for a game of Rummy while the men were trying not to lose _**all**_ their cash to Reid in the living room.

"Uh-huh. Dad wasn't very happy at first when I told him, but I promised to take some business courses over the summer. He says art is an unreliable field and I need a fallback, at least until I make it, and then when I do, I still need to know how to handle my money. And he's right. I mean look at the big names in the entertainment field who've been arrested for tax evasion because their bookkeeper was cooking the books. If I know how to handle my own finances, then I can make sure that doesn't happen."

"That's a very wise attitude. Have you applied to art school yet?"

"I'm putting in my application for early admission at the end of the month. I just need to do one more piece to round out my portfolio."

"A certain type?"

Chelsea studied the cards on the table carefully before answering, "Yeah, I've done my still-life, a portrait, landscape, watercolors and oils, I just finished up a charcoal drawing, I did an action drawing of Crookshanks trying to catch birds on the Discovery Channel - I used a photograph for that one."

JJ placed a set of sevens on the table, made her discard, and waited for Emily to ask the last question. Emily grabbed up JJ's discarded card and sorted it into her hand, "So, what's the last piece you have to do?"

"Dad already signed the permission forms, and my art teacher has a former student lined up to model for me."

Garcia prodded this time, she'd taken some art classes herself and had an idea what was coming, and she had a very bad feeling that Reid was going to need some serious convincing to go along with it, "Come on, Chelsea, it's not like any of us don't understand art."

They barely heard the mumbled reply, "I need to do a study of human form."

Emily's eyes snapped up to the doorway as the empty chip bowl hit the floor; Reid couldn't have picked a worse moment to come in for a refill. "No. No way. You are not painting a nude while I'm responsible for you. No way."

Chelsea dropped her cards and for a moment Garcia thought she was going to burst into tears again. She spun around to face her brother and her eyes flashed. Garcia smiled as the pair faced off for their first (but probably not last) fight. Reid defending his _**baby**_ sister's honor, Chelsea fighting for her future. Considering they'd each been tiptoeing around desperately trying to make the other happy, Garcia felt it was a very good sign for the health of their relationship.

Author's Note:

Meatloaf

3 pounds lean hamburger

one egg

one cup barbeque sauce

one small can creamed corn (optional)

one sleeve crackers (or croutons/breadcrumbs/Stove Top Stuffing/fresh or stale bread)

chopped onion and peppers

Reserve a quarter cup barbeque sauce and mix all other ingredients in large bowl.

Sometimes the creamed corn makes it a bit runny, add it slowly and mix in a bit more crackers if needed.

Press into a loaf pan(s) and drizzle remaining barbeque sauce on top.

May be refrigerated overnight.

Bake at 350 for one hour.

The creamed corn blends in and is nearly undetectable to kids (or Reids).

Baked Potatoes:

Wash dirt off, remove any eyes or blemishes

Poke hole in all sides with a fork or sharp knife

Stick in the oven with the meatloaf

When a fork slides in easily, they're done - about an hour depending on the size and oven temp


	10. Fight

Author's Note: I hadn't intended to do the fight, but ask and ye shall receive

Author's Note: I hadn't intended to do the fight, but I try to honor requests, so here goes. BTW, might want to grab the tissues. Also, it's a little short, but it really felt like they needed to end it there.

FIGHT

"So, what's the last piece you have to do?"

"Dad already signed the permission forms, and my art teacher has a former student lined up to model for me."

Garcia prodded this time, she'd taken some art classes herself and had an idea what was coming, and she had a very bad feeling that Reid was going to need some serious convincing to go along with it, "Come on, Chelsea, it's not like any of us don't understand art."

They barely heard the mumbled reply, "I need to do a study of human form."

Emily's eyes snapped up to the doorway as the empty chip bowl hit the floor; Reid couldn't have picked a worse moment to come in for a refill. "No. No way. You are not painting a nude while I'm responsible for you. No way."

Chelsea dropped her cards and for a moment Garcia thought she was going to burst into tears again. She spun around to face her brother and her eyes flashed. Garcia smiled as the pair faced off for their first (but probably not last) fight. Reid defending his _**baby**_ sister's honor; Chelsea fighting for her future. Considering they'd each been tiptoeing around desperately trying to make the other happy, Garcia felt it was a very good sign for the health of their relationship.

"I have to."

"No, you don't. There's no way any college is going to require that a minor paint a nude in order to gain entrance."

"It's part of a standard portfolio. Everyone does one."

"I don't care about everyone else. I'm responsible for you, and it's not happening." Reid recognized he was raising his voice, but at least, for once, it wasn't squeaking.

"Dad already gave his permission, you can't just say no, now."

"Oh, yes, I can. That's what being a legal guardian is all about, preventing you from seeing things you shouldn't be seeing."

"I'm an artist. It's not like I'm asking you to let me look at Internet porn or something like that."

"No, you're asking me to let you hang out, for I don't know how long, with some naked guy. It's not happening."

"It's not hanging out and I don't have to be alone."

"Oh, okay. I should leave you alone with some naked guy and the nutball teacher who put the idea in your head to start with? I don't think that's any better."

"She's not a nutball. She's a great teacher and how dare you judge her when you haven't even met her?"

"Easy. She's telling my baby sister to run around painting naked people. What am I supposed to think about her?"

Chelsea let "baby" slide for the moment, she'd learned to argue from a lawyer, she knew how to pick out the salient points, and while that one was important the other was more immediate, "That she's one of the best art teachers in the country? That she knows what I need to do to get into a really good art school? That she knows that just because you see someone naked it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with sex? That she knows that the human body is nothing to be ashamed of? That I've been to hundreds of museums and seen paintings and drawings and statues, but I can't do an original painting based of off another artist's concept of the human form? That I won't be the best artist I can be until I can really see the bone structure and musculature beneath the clothes."

"Then I'll take you to the science department of the museum. You can see a cross-section of a human body. Bones and muscles included."

"I've seen it. It's not the same thing. A cross-section is interesting, but it can't pose. There's no feeling, no emotion, no connection."

"I thought you said it wasn't about that?" Reid thought he had her there.

"No, I said it's not about sex. Art needs emotion. There's a difference - look it up."

Reid heard Morgan snort behind him. Not often he was told to look something up. "I know what the difference is. But looking at pictures in a museum is a lot different than sitting in a room with naked people. A picture isn't going to come on to you. I mean what kind of pervert poses naked for teenagers in the first place?"

"They're not perverts. They're college art students. They volunteer to pose and they get college credit and fifty bucks. Haven't you ever been to a college football game? They streak the field on a five-dollar dare."

"Oh, so now we're talking some drunk frat guy. Not a convincing argument."

Chelsea winced; she'd blown that one. "No, I'm talking a struggling art student, who's not ashamed of their body and needs a couple bucks for spending money."

"Exploitation. Nuh-uh." Reid was becoming more confident in his arguments. He may not argue often, but he'd learned logic and negotiation from two of the best in the world. There was no way he could lose a battle this important to a teenager."

"It's not exploitation, if all they're getting is beer money."

"It is if they're an alcoholic. And how would you know what they're doing it for? It could be a junkie looking for their next fix, it could be an exhibitionist looking to get his rocks off and the fifty bucks is just a bonus."

"They're not strangers. Miss Paola knows them. She's checked them out herself and they've posed for her college classes before."

"Look, I don't know this Miss Paola from Adam's off ox, I'm not taking her word for anything."

"Well, I do know her and I trust her. If you don't trust her, trust me. I mean this is a two-way street; I have to trust you about my whole life. I have to trust that you're going to get me to school. I have to trust that you'll let me see mom and dad while they're in the hospital. I have to trust that you really do want to get them the best care even though part of you must hate him for leaving you; must hate Mom for taking him away. I mean when you said you'd take me, how did I know you wouldn't hate me because Dad stayed with me, but not with you."

Chelsea could feel the tears starting, but couldn't stop them or the worries and fears that flowed from her very soul, "You could have hated me, but you don't. I know you don't because look at everything you've done to protect me. You could have let Mrs. Hammerstein take me back last night, said it was too much to handle. You could be keeping me locked up in here so I'd be safe, but instead you trusted your friends to keep me safe. You could have made me pick through whatever clothes those assholes didn't destroy and live with what was left over, but I'm glad you didn't, because even if there was something left that they didn't tear apart, I don't think I could ever forget that the men who tried to kill Mom and Dad had touched them. You didn't even blink when Garcia told you I wanted to do a mural, even though it means you have to sleep on the couch longer.

"And it's just not fair. You shouldn't have to sleep on the couch, and Mom and Dad shouldn't be in the hospital, and Dad should have told us about each other years ago, and you shouldn't have to pay for all kinds of new stuff for me, and you shouldn't have to give up your privacy, and I'm sixteen my biggest worry should be if I'm going to get a date to Prom and instead I'm worried about what kind of health insurance Mom and Dad have, and is their physical therapist good enough, and do whoever those goons are want to kill me, or _**just**_ kidnap me, and all I want to do is complete my art portfolio the right way so that if I live through this I can have a future, and …"

Reid's heart broke as he listened to his sister's fears and he did the only thing that felt right; he reached out, pulled her into his arms and held her tightly while she cried herself out against his chest. He let her cry as he whispered, "It'll be okay, Chels, I promise, everything is going to be okay."


	11. Back to School

Author's Note: I apologize for my long absence between chapters. I got spywared…and Trojaned…and virused…and probably a few other nasty nasties as well. I spent two weeks trying to clear my computer myself, then sent it to my local computer doctor who kept it for another week and had to wipe the hard drive. They were able to save all my writing, but I still had to spend this past week trying to replace all my software (I'm not done, but I finally got the Word last night). So, as of this morning, I am back to writing and fully intend to return to my schedule of one chapter per weekend.

I was able to write a peace offering in WordPad -- you can find Memories in Thoughts, Talks and Other One-Shots.

BACK TO SCHOOL

Chelsea held her breath as she walked into the art room. Spencer had contacted the principal at home yesterday and explained what they knew of the situation. Mr. Harding had expressed a great deal of concern about Chelsea attending school if someone was trying to kidnap her, especially if there was the slightest chance that the goons who had tried to run them off the road might make an attempt to take her from the school.

After some serious negotiations, they had reached a compromise. Chelsea would be allowed to attend as long as Spencer shadowed her every move. Gym class had moved outside for the rest of the school year, so since the outside yard couldn't possibly be secured, she would have to do health and fitness content classes instead. Gym from a textbook - whoopee - she'd almost rather take the classes. Almost.

Her first period class was a college-level English/theatre arts class and had gone well. They were doing Taming of the Shrew, the ten students in the class had to take turns reading aloud and this week she got to do the part of Kate. She had memorized the play last week and was pleased to see Spencer sitting in the back of the room silently mouthing the words along with her and today's reading partner. She wondered when _**he**_ had memorized it? Was he a fan, or maybe he had a memory like hers?

Her mom had always told her that her intelligence and ability to read something once and memorize it was a special gift and had encouraged her to develop and enjoy it, even arranging special lessons to advance her skills, while making sure it didn't cut her off from her friends.

At first the school had wanted her to skip a grade, but her mother had thought her social development was as important as what she learned and found a private school that would accommodate that. First they had arranged for special lessons in her regular classroom, the teacher had started the class with simple arithmetic, then come over and spend a few minutes showing her a new algebraic equation, her first-grade class did their independent reading on Grimm's Fairytales (the modern versions) while she had read 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

Later she would spend half her day with her regular class, doing the "specials," art, music, gym - and science just because that didn't peak her interest at all - and half the day with an older class, doing her academic subjects; social studies, math, English, more in-depth. When that hadn't been enough to satisfy her curiosity about the world, they had arranged for one-on-one tutoring, for two hours a day, in English, history and math.

It was in sixth grade during a world history tutoring session that they had delved into Renaissance art, and she had fallen in love. She brought the book with her to art class and point blank told the teacher she wanted to learn to do that. Maybe the Sistine Chapel was a little ambitious, but what eleven year old would know that.

That week she had begun taking extra art lessons, learning about color and styles and techniques. She'd been delighted when she'd started seventh grade and found that Miss Paola, a college art teacher, had been hired to teach art and art history classes and she had been cleared to take art all the way through her senior year, instead of the two semesters her classmates would be required to take.

Now, she held her breath as she stepped into the art room, because as much as she loved Miss Paola as a teacher, she was eccentric, she was flamboyant, she was unpredictable, and most of all, she wasn't the least bit shy about the fact that she loved men. Most of the fathers were afraid to be in the same room with her. And right now she needed a teacher who could convince her brother that she was completely trustworthy and that painting nudes had absolutely nothing to do with sex.

She bit her lip as she remembered Spencer's words Saturday night when she had finished bawling her eyes out, "I'll talk to your teacher. We can take it from there."

In fact, she'd be panicking if it weren't for the fact that Penelope had pulled her aside before she went home that night and whispered, "Relax, Sweetie, I have a backup plan if the teacher conference doesn't go well. Just keep your cool and let the Goddess of all things knowable take care of you; okay?"

She crossed the room to introduce Spencer to Miss Paola and held her breath as she waited for her world to crash around her ears once again.

SECTION*BREAK

"Queen of the Computer Realm at your service, pay your homage and make your request." Chelsea crossed her fingers hoping she wouldn't get caught; this was so against the rules. She never broke the rules, but this was an emergency.

"Penelope? He hates her."

Garcia checked the Caller-ID at the bottom of her screen, "Chelsea, honey, what happened."

"He's going to say no. I know he is."

"Okay, honey, calm down a minute. Tell me what happened. Where's your brother?"

"He's standing in the hall watching the door."

"Oookay. Where are you?"

"I'm in the bathroom. It's the only place we can use our cell phones in school."

"They make you use your phones in the bathroom?" Apparently a lot had changed in the fifteen years since she'd left school.

"No, the bathroom is the only place we can get away with using our phones. They're not allowed to open the stall doors, even if they hear us talking. There's a reasonable expectation that a person inside a bathroom stall will be partially naked, therefore, opening the door without permission constitutes a strip search, which without proper law enforcement personnel and a warrant or exigent circumstances is illegal. Ergo, student hide in a bathroom stall if they need to use the phone."

"Well, I see somebody pays attention when Daddy talks shop."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Now, tell me what happened - short version, I'm sure you don't have much time. 'He hates her' I assume you mean your brother didn't hit it off with your art teacher."

"She started talking about how important a well-rounded portfolio is to getting into a good art school. She explained that it's important to start the process early because the application process is different than for an academic school, and that if I don't get into my first choice - which I'm going to do - I have to send my portfolio out to a second school and it has to be the original work. It's not like sending out a dozen copies of my transcripts and SAT scores; I can only apply to one school at a time. Well, I could I send out my second-best work to my second-choice school, but then that school wouldn't see my best work, so I'd have less chance of getting in. Then I have to go on interviews, and those take time to arrange."

"Okay, Sweetie, it sounds like it was going good, so what happened?"

"Then she started talking about me, and how I have such talent and _**passion**_ for the work. How _**doing**_ a nude will help me develop a true appreciation for the human form and explore the _**sensual**_ side of art."

"Oh, that's not good."

"No. But he held it together. He asked about the model she had arranged."

"Okay. He was still listening, that's good."

"Yeah, it was great. She explained that he was a young art student at Georgetown, he's very _**enthusiastic**_ about art and just _**loves posing nude**_, and _**don't worry**_, he's very _**good at making young girls feel comfortable**_ and he's willing to spend _**hour upon hour**_ developing a rapport with his artistes and would Spencer like to discuss the subject more in-depth, _**perhaps tonight, over drinks, at her place**_?"

"Oh, Baby, I'm so sorry. You're brother may not get out that much socially, but not even he's going to miss that one."

"No. And he wasn't happy about it."

"Okay. It's on to plan B. Just leave everything up to me, and I'll have you painting by the weekend."

"He's not going to let me do it. I know he's not."

"Chelsea, listen to me. First, breathe, you can't do anything if you pass out."

Chelsea took a deep breath, "okay."

"Now, I know your brother better than anybody in the world. He trusts me - which he should - he'll listen when I talk to him. I took an art class last year. I'm very good friends with one of the models. I can guarantee your brother that you'll be perfectly safe and that I will be in the room with you the entire time."

"You'd do that?"

"Honey, you'd be amazed at what I'll do for family, and you're family now. Just trust me and I promise everything will work out."

"Okay."

"Now, you better wash your face, put on new makeup and get back out there before your brother comes in looking for you. He is a law enforcement officer, and he is there acting as your bodyguard so he's got all the exigent circumstances he needs to come in looking for you."

"Okay. Thanks."

"No problem. And Chelsea?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't forget to actually go pee while you're in there. If you have to go twenty minutes from now your brother's going to drag you to the doctor to make sure you don't have diabetes."

A few minutes later Chelsea slipped out of the bathroom and returned to art class wondering what her brother would think of her advanced placement history class.

SECTION*BREAK

Reid checked his watch again, Chelsea had been in the girls' bathroom for almost ten minutes, far too long for a simple call of nature - besides, he'd seen the tears she'd been fighting to hold back when she had asked that _**teacher **_for permission to leave the room. 'Talk over drinks,' like he hadn't heard that one before - of course, it was generally directed at Morgan, or even Hotch - he was absolutely certain Chelsea's future would have been the last thing on her mind if he had accepted.

'Loves posing nude and make young girls feel comfortable,' yeah, right - definitely sounded like someone he didn't want his sister being around - when he went back in the art room he was going to get this guy's name and have Garcia run him through the system. If he didn't come back squeaky clean there was going to be hell to pay.

There had to be another way. Maybe he could give Parker Dunley a call. He dealt with artists all the time, he had to have some gallery or artist connections on the East Coast, maybe one could recommend a model. But that put him back to trusting someone else's judgment.

Did he know anyone who would be willing to do it?

No way in Hell would Hotch or Rossi even think about it, but maybe Morgan would? He trusted Morgan. Morgan didn't seem to mind running around half naked.

Bureau policy was for each agent to have their own room whenever possible, but they'd had to bunk together several times over the last five years, and Morgan always seemed to wind up running around in his underwear before the night was over. And whenever they were in a hotel with a pool and they had free time he always took advantage of it. And he was never shy about taking his shirt off in front of the girls (he'd once caught Morgan trying to convince Emily to poke his abs to see how hard they were), but that was a lot different than sitting around naked in front of his best friend's sister - his best friend's teenage sister - his best friend's teenage sister with his best friend chaperoning.

And then there was the fact that who knew how many people would wind up seeing the finished product? If Chelsea did wind up becoming a famous artist, her early art could wind up in a gallery. Thousands of people could see it. And even if she never sold a single painting it would still wind up being seen by the college's admissions review board and Chelsea's teacher.

Maybe George in accounting? He always seemed to wind up naked at the annual Christmas party and, if the rumor mill was to be believed, he was gay. That would be perfect. If Chelsea had to spend several hours with some naked guy she couldn't get much safer than a gay accountant; right?

Did he know any other gay guys who might be willing to pose naked for the sake of art?

He looked up from his internal deliberations when Chelsea came out of the girls' rest room. He met her halfway to between the art room and the bathroom, he put his arm around her shoulders, "Okay, I understand this is important for your schooling, but I don't trust her judgment on whether this model guy's appropriate or not, so I'm going to have Garcia check him out. If he checks out, I'll meet with him; okay?"

Chelsea nodded, after the way he had freaked out Saturday night, this was a big concession.

"And if he doesn't check out, or I don't like him when I talk to him, we'll figure something else out. You might have to give me a little bit of time though."

"Okay."

"Great. Let's get you back to class before you get in trouble for skipping."


	12. Leave it to Garcia

LEAVE IT TO GARCIA

Reid eyed Garcia cautiously as she set the plastic grocery bag on his kitchen table and started pulling out Sunday supplies. Reid was always easier to manage with a little sugar in his system.

"Come on, Sweet Pea get the bowls out."

She pulled a can of whipped cream and a jar of mixed nuts from the bag and turned to Chelsea, "Chelsea, there should be an ice cream scoop in one of those drawers and we need spoons."

"Garcia, not that I'm not glad to see you, but right now isn't the best time for ice cream. Chelsea and I really need to talk about -- is that Ben and Jerry's?"

Garcia pulled another container out, "Chocolate Fudge Brownie for you my dear boy."

She pulled more ice cream from the bag, "I wasn't sure which kind to get you, Chelsea, so I brought my two favorites, Cherry Garcia and Peanut Butter Cup, which shall it be?"

"Mmmm, I'll take the Cherry Garcia."

"Excellent choice."

"Garcia, I really appreciate this, but --."

"Reid, Darling?"

Reid sighed, Garcia on a roll was impossible to stop, "I know what you're trying to say, and we'll discuss it as soon as the ice cream is dished up."

Reid held his tongue as he stuck a clean spoon into the mixed nuts, vigilantly digging out as many cashews as he could find before sliding the can to Chelsea.

"Good boy." Garcia pulled a Pyrex storage container from her bag and placed it in the microwave, "A little of my homemade hot fudge sauce and we'll be ready to talk." The microwave beeped and she quickly poured a generous helping of hot fudge into each bowl, squirted on the whipped cream and dropped several cherries on top.

She waited until everyone had had a few bites before starting, "Now, my little lost lambs, listen first, then talk."

She pointed her spoon at Chelsea, "You need to do a nude."

Chelsea caught nodded, "It's standard and I'll lose points if I don't have one."

"Right. Now, be patient and eat your ice cream while your brother and I talk through this."

She pointed her spoon towards Reid, "You don't trust her teacher's judgment to choose an appropriate model."

"Garcia," his voice was near panic pitch and he knew it, "The woman hit on me in front of Chelsea. In the classroom."

"Right. I know your genius brain has been working all day long looking for a solution, so let's hear what you've come up with."

"I'm going to find a model for Chelsea. I've got to know someone who'll do it."

"Any ideas yet?"

"My first thought was Morgan." He saw Garcia's wince as she took a bite of chocolate-covered ice cream. "I don't think he'd do it, though. Chelsea's too young, and even though he's not shy about running around half-dressed or less, that's a lot different."

"Bingo, my sweet genius. Plus the social awkwardness if Chelsea happens to develop a crush, then we have problems."

"Not to mention I don't relish the idea of sitting around with him sitting around naked, and there's no way Chelsea's doing this unchaperoned. Even with Morgan."

"You know you could trust him."

"I do. But he flirts like the rest of us breath, I'm not leaving him alone with my sister naked."

Garcia smiled. She'd known he'd come up with Morgan as a possibility. She'd wondered if he'd worked up the nerve to approach the older man about it yet. "Anyone else?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure Ethan would do it. But I'd have to fly him up here, and it depends on his schedule, I mean Chelsea pretty much needs to do it on the weekend because of school, and he plays every Friday and Saturday night. That leaves Sunday afternoon, maybe after school on Monday and Tuesday."

"Good thinking, my Pet. Any others options come to mind?"

"George in accounting."

Garcia tried not to laugh, "you mean the guy who always winds up naked under the punch bowl at the annual holiday party?"

Reid nodded, "I, um -- obviously he doesn't mind being naked in front of people, and I heard he's -- you know I don't usually pay attention to gossip, but I can't help it if people talk when I'm standing there, and I heard a couple of the girls from questioned documents talking --."

Garcia couldn't hold back any longer, "You want your sister to paint a sixty-year-old gay accountant?"

"I _**want**_ my sister to paint puppies and kittens, and maybe some bald, wrinkly babies."

"You _**want**_ her to get into the best school."

"She's _**going**_ to get into the best school."

"And this is what she has to do to get in."

"I know." His voice was resigned. He didn't know how yet but he was going to make this happen. Why couldn't she want to go into technical engineering? She could be an architect and design artsy buildings. He could get her into Cal Tech in a heartbeat. Or a lawyer? Harvard had been courting him for a couple years to teach a course on the psychology of communicating with a jury; he could trade teaching a few classes for guaranteed admission.

Garcia smiled again and turned back to Chelsea, "Now, you have to submit a nude. Does it have to be male?"

"What? No. I mean, usually you do the opposite sex, but that's just routine, it's not required."

"So, do you have any problem with a female model?"

Chelsea was quick to shake her head, it was a straight out of left field, but it was perfect, "No. No problem at all. I can do a female nude."

Garcia was able to not laugh at the confusion on Reid's face, but just barely. "I know Sweet Pea. You're used to being the one to come up with all the answers, but sometimes you have to stand back from the problem to see the solution is right there."

"But I don't know anyone -- it's not like I can -- Garcia, I can't just run around Quantico asking women if they'd be willing to take their clothes off."

She managed not to voice her opinion on how successfully he could actually do just that if he wanted and settled for, "You don't have to, Cutie. I just happen to know someone who fits the bill."

"Who?" He was so cute when he got that puzzled frown on his face.

"Sorry, Sweetie, you'll have to trust me on this. She's discreet, dependable and in no way a danger to your little sister, but she does have one condition: You've met her, so you don't get to know who it is, which means you don't get to be there when Chelsea's painting her and you don't get to see the painting."

"But -- but -- but I need to interview --."

"Reid?"

He stopped talking.

"Do you trust me?"

He took a deep breath, "Yes. I trust you." His brain might have a million buts, but his heart and soul knew he could trust Garcia with anything, including this.

"Good. Now, listen up and I'll tell you how this is going to work."

&&&&&&&

Morgan had practically had to drag Reid away for a daytrip to the closest casino. JJ and Emily had guaranteed to stay with Chelsea and Garcia the entire time (right now they were doing recon on the building, inside and out). Of course, he had still balked until a phone call to Hotch gained his agreement to stay in phone contact with the girls and to go to Garcia's apartment immediately if they didn't call him every hour on the hour. He insisted he trusted the two of them, but if anything happened they'd have to protect Chelsea _**and**_ Garcia, since Garcia wasn't trained in weapons and tactics. There had been two unsubs in the SUV and he wanted better odds.

Morgan had promised to make sure Reid didn't make his way back to town to find out who Chelsea's model was _**or **_to check up on them. Garcia knew all three men were rabidly curious, but she was counting on their integrity to keep them from prying. JJ and Emily would be surprised, but she trusted them to be circumspect about the model's identity.

She followed Chelsea into her already-cleared apartment and reset the new security system that Morgan had installed after her shooting. She had to admit that as much as she hated having it, she felt reassured by its presence.

Chelsea looked as though her eyes were going to pop out of her head as she looked around Garcia's apartment. "Wow. This is amazing. I love your place."

"Yeah, it's pretty cool, huh? Why don't you scout out where you want to set up while I grab us a couple sodas. I know it's a nude, but check out my closet to see if there's anything there you want to use for props, I've got a great collection of wigs, scarves, shoes, some bolts of material for sewing. Anything you want to dress the set with is fine. And you can move anything you want, just remember where it was so you can put it back."

"Okay. Um, when's the model getting here? I really need to see her to know exactly what I want for props."

"You're sure you're okay with not telling your brother who your model is; right?"

"Yeah. I mean he agreed, so it's not like I'm keeping a secret or lying."

"Good girl. That's just what I needed to hear before introducing you to your model." She stepped from the kitchen and spread her arms wide, "So, have you decided where you want me?"

AN: I told you Garcia had a plan. 


	13. Paint & Poker

PAINT AND POKER

She stepped from the kitchen and spread her arms wide, "So, have you decided where you want me?"

Chelsea gaped for a moment as Garcia's meaning became clear, "You? You're going to model for me? Really?"

Garcia nodded, putting on her best bravado, she'd been rejected more than once because she wasn't svelte and it always hurt.

"Oh, my God, I can't believe it." Chelsea started moving around the room excitedly as she talked, "This is amazing. I mean, I was hoping the model would have personality, you're perfect." She pulled the couch back a couple feet and angled it so the beaded curtain to Garcia's bedroom was centered behind it. "You are so perfect."

Garcia's smile relaxed as she listened to Chelsea, aside from being happy to have Garcia model for her, she sounded so much like her brother when she got excited. "I want to show who you are. You said you have scarves?" Garcia nodded and Chelsea shot into the bedroom to root around in the closet. "You're perfect for a Rubens. Venus At A Mirror, The Three Graces, Bathsheba At The Fountain, The Fur Cloak."

Chelsea looked at Garcia watching her from the bedroom door, "Do you have any more of the lilac hairscara you wore last week?" She pulled a long silk scarf from one of several clothes hangers where they were loosely tied and arranged by color.

Garcia smiled to see her so exuberant as she completely lost her manners and found Garcia's jewelry. She opened the miniature armoire that held her collection of necklaces and ran her fingers gently across them, before selecting one with large colored-glass beads.

She started pulling drawers open and gasped at the selection of hair flowers in one. She selected a deep purple iris and placed it on the vanity table. She opened another drawer and found the purple hairscara and a variety of lipsticks, which she checked labels and pulled the covers off several before making her selection.

&&&&&&

"Come on, Reid, snap out of it. You usually enjoy hitting the casino."

"Yeah, but I'm not usually leaving my sister behind."

"Well, get used to that, they ain't letting her in here."

"There's more to it than that, and you know it, Morgan."

"You know there hasn't been any activity all week. There's no reason to think they've traced her to you. And even if they have, they're not getting close to her with Prentiss and JJ around. They'll keep your girl safe."

"You don't feel weird letting Emily and JJ protect Garcia?"

Morgan was determined to get his out of his funk, "Is this a latent bit of chauvinism I see?"

"What? No. No. It doesn't have anything to do with them being women. I just feel like I should be there. Protecting Chelsea is my job, my responsibility."

"And you've taken care of that responsibility by getting JJ and Prentiss to baby-sit our girls. Would I feel a little better if Penelope would let me teach her how to shoot? Yes. Do I think they're all safe? Absolutely. I wouldn't have let Pen talk me into dragging you away if I didn't think JJ and Prentiss could handle the security. Not to mention that Hotch promised to be available. He's got his neighbor lined up to stay with Jack if the girls call. Now, relax and pay attention to what you're doing, you just lost another hand."

"What?" Reid looked at the screen in front of him. He'd selected video poker today because he could generally do it with his eyes closed; he was shocked to find that he was actually down a hundred bucks from his starting amount. He started a new hand, determined to earn enough to cover his unexpected expenses and have a bit of play money to boot. There was a first edition Hemingway at the bookshop that he wanted to get before someone else snatched it up.

&&&&&&

"Okay, guys, we cleared all the public areas of the building and the perimeter. So, how long till your model friend gets here?" Emily reset the alarm as she spoke.

"Actually, guys, there's a little something I need to let you know."

JJ walked around, noting the rearrangement of the furniture and hearing Chelsea rooting around in Garcia's bedroom. "I take it, she's using the couch?"

"Yeah, I'll be posing on the couch."

"Oh, good -- wait a minute, _**you'll**_ be posing on the couch?"

"Yeah. I didn't want to tell you until I was sure Morgan and Reid were out of hearing distance."

Emily shrugged her shoulders and wandered into the kitchen for a soda, JJ however was stuck, "You're going to pose nude? You do realize there's every chance the guys are going to wind up seeing this?"

Penelope walked over to JJ and took her face in her hands, "Sweetie, breathe. Yes, I know that Morgan and Reid are most likely going to look. Morgan will make some 'hot mama' comment, and our dear Reid will blush to the tips of his toes, say something sweet and clumsy, and not look me in the face for a week."

"And Hotch?"

"Already knows. It's considered moonlighting. I had to have him and the head of the technical analysts department sign off for outside employment. He promised not to tell Reid until after the fact."

"You got Hotch to agree to lie?"

"Not lie, I explained that Reid agreed not to ask who the model was, and asked him not to volunteer the information. JJ, the man does _**that**_ all the time."

"Well, I've got to hand it to you, Pen, you sure do know how to keep a secret."

"So, you're good with it?"

JJ nodded her head, "Yeah, if you're good with it, I'm good with it. Just don't expect me to join you."

&&&&&&

Morgan leaned over Reid's shoulder and muttered, "That's better." He wasn't sure his buddy actually heard him, but at least he was focusing on the poker machine. He was already up three thousand. He'd probably be able to talk him into springing for some surf and turf at the casino restaurant.

"Do you think I should call home and check on Chelsea?"

"Reid, Man, you are worse than a new mama. The girls are fine, and if you call home every hour, they're all going to think you don't trust them."

"I trust them. I just --."

"You just don't trust them with your baby sister. It's all right, I get it, Man. If it were Sarah or Desiree, I'd be flipping too. But they're fine."

"But --."

"But nothin'. Besides, if you keep calling and interruptin' them, it'll take longer and we'll have to do this all over again tomorrow. Not that I mind as long as you're buying dinner."

"Okay. No phone calls. Dinner?"

"Yeah, you know, where we go over there to the restaurant and get some good food, I scoped out the menu, they've got some great specials."

"Sure. Why not?"

"I still can't believe Chelsea can do a whole painting in one day."

"Well, she won't do the whole painting in one shot. She'll sketch the room and make color notes on the canvass and take photographs. Then she'll paint the model and the immediate background. That's where she needs the most details. And she's using acrylics not oils, which dry significantly faster. The drying time is controlled by several factors, including the humidity and how thickly she applies the paints, but a thin layer can be dry in a matter of minutes and a second layer can be applied right over top. A painting that would take months just because of drying time can be done in days, but it's trickier, there's less time to 'work' the paint, and mistakes have to be painted over to correct them, with oils there's a certain amount of time to scrape the paint off the canvass, as well as being able to blend colors on the canvass itself…"

Morgan made sure to nod in rhythm with Reid's speech and welcomed (more or less) the rambling that signaled his friend was starting to relax (or at least getting distracted).

&&&&&&

"Are you all set, Sweetie?" Garcia came out of the bathroom wrapped in her silk kimono robe, and looked at the set dressing Chelsea had set up. She'd set up a bowl of grapes, next to one of Garcia's laptops carefully angled not to interfere with her line of sight from where her easel was set up in front of the t.v.

"Yeah." She carefully positioned a bowl with apples and oranges on the other side of the laptop. The deep purple sheet she had found in the linen closet was draped over the couch with several solid-colored scarves were draped over that in counterpoint. She half-filled a wineglass with grape juice and placed it next to the grapes. "Now, I'll need you to stay as still as possible, for as long as possible, so we want you to be comfortable. If you need a drink tell me, and I'll bring it to you. You can talk except when I'm doing your face, and I'll tell you when I'm ready for that."

"So, you want me lying on my side?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking something like Tech Kitten at Rest."

"I like it."

Garcia let her robe fall from her shoulders and tossed it to JJ who still appeared a bit shell-shocked at the whole situation. She'd known that Emily, who had grown up around precious artwork her entire life would be far more blasé about the whole concept (not to mention she'd been a bit of a wild child herself) but no matter how much JJ loved the big city life, she'd still been raised a small-town girl.

She swung her head around when she heard Chelsea's gasp. "What happened?"

Garcia looked down at her scars, she hadn't even thought about them in terms of the painting. "It's okay, Sweetie, I'll lie on that side."

"No. No, I want to paint them. If that's okay, if you don't want me to, I understand, but I really want to paint them."

Garcia looked down at herself, thanks to Kevin's warm consideration the first time he had seen them, she was comfortable with them, but was a bit unsure about displaying them to the world. She looked at Chelsea's face so similar to her brother's in its ability to reflect her emotions. The longer Garcia hesitated, the more unsure Chelsea became, she was terrified she'd just made a major faux pas, "Sure, Sweetie. If you're sure you want them."

She lay down on the couch and patiently followed Chelsea's directions as they worked out her pose and Chelsea loosely wrapped one of the silk scarves around her left arm and draped it across her body.

&&&&&&

"Look out, Reid, hooker alert."

"Where?"

"Watching you from the slots."

He turned his head slightly until he could see the woman. "Great, it's not even two in the afternoon."

"She's probably just doing a little gambling herself. Maybe she won't notice you."

"Maybe."

"You don't sound too hopeful about that."

"I just don't know what it is; little kids and animals hate me, hookers and strippers love me."

Morgan laughed, Hotch called it the Reid effect, but it held universally true, Reid had been bitten by no less than seven otherwise friendly dogs, had his pants shredded by three cats, and been bitten in the backside by a pair of territorial geese in rural Alabama. But put him in the room with a hooker and he always found himself defending his honor, and his zipper.

Reid noticed her shift a few machines closer. "You know, Morgan, I think I'm in the mood for a snack, you want to hit the buffet now?"

"No way, Man, you're supposed to pop for a nice dinner tonight."

"I am?"  
"Don't you remember promising me surf and turf?"

"No. When did that happen?"

"We were talking about the restaurant earlier. I've been looking forward to it all day."

"Oh." Reid saw the woman shift seats again. It might be less obvious if she actually played a little between moves, but she was definitely headed his way and he just wasn't in the mood today. And he was pretty sure he hadn't promised Morgan surf and turf, but he usually treated on their gambling trips anyway so he decided to play along, "Okay. How about we check out the blackjack tables then?"

Reid removed his player's card from the machine and stood up. The odds were better on the video poker machine, but the blackjack table was more fun anyway and nobody was allowed to sit at the table unless they were playing.

&&&&&&

Chelsea finished sketching Garcia's form on the canvas and applied the first of her paints to her glass palette; this was going to be an amazing day.

&&&&&&

Reid looked over his shoulder and noted the hooker sitting at the bar staring at him, this was going to be a long day.


	14. Reunion

A.N.: Back to the other side of the story.

REUNION

10:00 a.m. Sunday morning

Reid had been waiting patiently for close to an hour when his father finally opened his eyes, "Spencer. What -- what are you doing here?" His father's voice was barely audible, hoarse from the ventilator tube that had been removed that morning, after they'd started weaning him from the drugs that had been keeping him unconscious.

"Do you know what happened?" Reid spoke softly, knowing all too well the headache that accompanies waking up in a hospital.

William closed his eyes for a few moments, when he opened them he shook his head, "No. No, the last thing I remember is getting in the car to go to work this morning. No, wait, if they've had time to contact you it couldn't have been this morning; could it? It was a car accident?"

"Yeah."

"Carly. Where's Carly? Is she hurt?" He tried to sit up, coughing hard from the effort.

Reid jumped up; rushed to his father's side, "Calm down, she's okay. She's in the next room, Chelsea's in with her waiting for her to wake up right now."

William relaxed, leaned back against the bed, "She's okay?"

"She's okay. She is hurt, but you're both going to be okay. The doctor says you're both healing well."

"Healing well, huh? So, how long before we can get out of here?"

"I'm going to let your doctor talk to you about that, but let's just say I hope you like hospital food." Reid knew it was a weak attempt at a joke, but it was the best he could do for the moment.

He paused for a moment before continuing, "There's something I need to discuss with you."

"When I left you and your mother, there were things you didn't know, things I couldn't tell you. I --."

"You left because of Carly. I know. Carly and Chelsea." Reid hadn't been planning on raising the subject yet, but now that his father had, the need to know was so strong he couldn't resist asking, "Did Mom know?"

"No. That's why I had to leave the way I did. I was terrified she'd find out. I was terrified she'd do something to Carly or the baby. I wanted to take you with me, but I couldn't take you away from Diana, she would have killed herself inside of a year. And I was afraid that if you went back and forth, you'd tell her about Carly and the baby, either because you thought she deserved to know, or just by accident. I was afraid for them.

"When I left, the schizophrenia was under control, at least when she remembered to take her meds. I hoped that when I left she'd continue her medications. I hoped she'd do it for you."

Reid snorted, "Yeah, well she did mostly. But she still had her bad days, forget her meds, didn't want to take them. Some days they just didn't work."

"I know. And I know it didn't seem like it to you, but I did keep track of the two of you. I had --."

"I know. I found the letters, three hundred and ninety-six of them, one letter a week until I sold the house. And the files you kept. All my medical records, school records. My whole life up till I turned eighteen, all sorted into neat little folders and stuffed in a file box and hidden in the back of the closet in your office.

"Then I turned eighteen and there was no more parental rights to my records; right? I moved and didn't leave a forwarding address. All you had were newspaper clippings. You got pretty much everything, though. Dean's list, scholarship awards. I think you've documented every article that's even mentioned me or my team in passing. I could probably have you prosecuted for stalking."

"Huh-uh," William smiled, "I'm a lawyer, remember? I have a legitimate reason for the interest, there's no malicious intent and everything I have is from public domain documents. I subscribe to a clippings service. They're very good."

Reid was surprised to find himself smiling back, "You know there's probably only fifteen people who've read my engineering thesis, and I'm pretty sure Gideon's the only other person to have read my chemistry thesis _**and**_ my math thesis."

"Well, they _**were**_ a little dry. I liked your paper on criminal psychology through the ages a lot more." He shrugged a little, "I didn't understand it quite as well, but the subject matter was interesting and you put more of yourself into it. So, you really think Jack the Ripper was a surgeon?"

Reid shrugged back, "I think it's a logical assumption. Records show he was one of the prime suspects."

"So, is there any way to prove your theory?"

"No, it's just one of many. Unless the Ripper's journals are discovered someday, we'll never know for sure."

"So, you think they really exist?"

"At some point they did. A killer like the Ripper has to record his kills. It's a need. Journaling, sketching and painting were the only ways available back then. The letters he wrote to the police indicate he was educated enough to write well and he associated it with his crimes, so I'd say he had very detailed journals.

"If they still exist they're hidden in a box in somebody's basement, locked away as proof that dear old great, great, great grandpa was off his rocker. If they exist after all this time, and they haven't come to light yet, then they've been handed down with instructions to keep them hidden. It's more likely that they were thrown out when he died."

"Makes sense, if I found something like that, I think I'd burn it."

"Most people would, not everybody though. Who knows? If they're still around they may just show up on The Jerry Springer Show one of these days." His father laughed triggering a coughing fit.

He waited for his father to catch his breath, deciding he really shouldn't make him laugh right now, it really was time to get down to business anyway. "Someone ran you off the road. I need to know who it was."

"What? It wasn't an accident? Are you sure?"

"They trashed your house. I don't know what they were looking for, but they didn't find it. I need your client list, past and present. I've been through your house with a fine-tooth comb and didn't find any clues; your financial records don't show anything suspicious; anyone trying to get at me through you wouldn't have tossed your house afterwards; your partners won't tell me squat, but they did volunteer to pay all your bills until you can go back to work and they've assigned round-the-clock security for you and your wife. They offered for Chelsea, but I've got that covered for the time being.

"And most importantly, when Chelsea and I left your house, all she had was the cat, but someone tried to run us off the road to get to her, so they either want to use her to force you to tell them where it is, or whatever they're looking for is, or could be, small."

He paused to let this sink in before continuing, "So, what are they looking for; a jump drive?"

William Reid looked at his son in amazement for a moment before closing his eyes and nodding. "I don't know, maybe."

"So, where is your jump drive?"

Reid watched as his father struggled with his situation and gave the final push. "Right now, someone is still trying to get their hands on that information, and they're more than willing to go through Chelsea to get it. The moment I have it in my hands I can arrange a press leak that it's been found and is in the possession of the police. If Chelsea doesn't have it and can't get it, then there's no reason for them to keep coming after her. Until then, she's in danger."

William looked at his son, saw the truth of his words, "You got the cat?"

Reid groaned, he couldn't have, it was just too cliché, "Don't tell me it's in the cat's collar?"

William gave an almost laugh, before being reminded, quite painfully, that that was a bad idea. "Not quite. Break open the handle of the carrier, there's a key to a safe deposit box inside. First National Bank, it's in your mother's name."

Reid stood up, "I'll take care of it."

"Spencer?"

"Take care of Chelsea, too?"

He nodded, "I will. I promise."

Reid went to tell the nurse on duty that his father was awake.


	15. Movies Anyone?

MOVIES ANYONE?

Wednesday Evening:

"Come on, it's just the movies."

"Chelsea, it's too dangerous."

"It's been two weeks since dad gave you that key and nothing's happened."

"Nothing's happened because we've been careful and not given them a chance to try anything. Until White Collar Crimes makes the arrest, you're not going anywhere alone."

"I won't be alone, I'll be with other people."

"Teenagers don't count."

"Excuse me!"

"As protection, Chelsea, teenagers don't count as protection. Think about it. If someone comes up and puts a gun to your back, what's your sixteen-year-old friend going to do about it?"

"So, I'm under house arrest until your friends catch this guy?"

"I'm sorry, Chelsea, but that's the way it's going to be, until I'm sure the threat is over."

"And how long is that going to take?"

"I don't know."

Chelsea changed tactics and asked sweetly, "So, does that mean you're going to college with me? I really hope you like dorm life. One room, no kitchen, bathroom down the hall, public showers."

Reid suppressed a shudder at the thought of dorm showers. He'd been excused from participating in gym, and therefore group showering, after the little _accident_ during his first high school class that had sent him to the nurse's office with a bloody nose and black eye. He'd never forget the first time he'd heard the 'boy's will be boy's speech' from his vice principal. Apparently in some circles it was acceptable for seniors to _play dodgeball_ with basketballs, at least if they were on the football team.

When he'd gone to Cal Tech he'd had no choice, it was use the dorm shower or stink. Fortunately Cal Tech wasn't a big 'jock' campus, but he'd still had to deal with pranks on the 'kid.' At sixteen he was one of the youngest students and his painful shyness had made him a target, the second time his clothes and towel had been stolen from the miniscule dressing area, he'd learned the magic of gallon-sized Zip-loc bags. A grocery bag for the dirty clothes, one Zip-loc for the clean shirt and underwear, one for he clean pants, one for a dry towel, hang everything on the shower head and shower real fast, just in case someone decided to try some new prank.

He pulled himself from his memories to look at Chelsea, "How about a video night? We can get some pizza and soda. You can order the instant delivery on the Netflix," he pointed to a wire going from his flat screen on the wall to the computer in the corner, "Garcia hooked the computer up to play on the TV."

Chelsea thought about the compromise for a few moments before responding, "How many girls?"

Reid racked his brain for the correct number, enough to keep her happy, few enough for him to keep his sanity, "Three?"

"Five."

"Four."

"Only if they can stay the night."

"All night?"

"No. Let's toss them out in the street at three in the morning. It'll be fun."

"Ha, ha, ha, Morgan. I meant, I wasn't thinking slumber party here. I don't have a clue how to plan a slumber party."

"Duh. You buy a bunch of pizza, chips, dip and soda, rent some movies, and you stay out of the way. About noon Sunday we get up and have pizza for breakfast. Then about nine at night, you drive everybody home."

"Nine at _night_?"

"Well, yeah, we can't toss them out as soon as they get up, that'd be rude."

Reid decided he definitely needed JJ's input to see if Chelsea was pulling his leg about how a slumber party was supposed to work, but he was pretty sure he could survive what she was suggesting.

"All right. Saturday you can have a slumber party. There's no reason their parents can't drop them off here, but I'll see if Morgan can bring them home. I don't want to put you in a car with a bunch of kids, just in case."

Saturday Morning:

Reid heard the buzz of the downstairs door and wondered who would be showing up at his door at ten o'clock on a Saturday morning without calling first. He put his coffee cup down and headed for the living room. "Hey, Janie, come on up."

He walked into the living room and looked at his sister, "Janie?"

"Yeah. Remember; we talked about this? Five friends. Overnight. Pizza and chips. Lots of soda."

"I also remember being led to believe they'd be arriving tonight."

"Hmm, don't know why you'd think that. Slumber parties always start in the morning."

The bell rang and he checked the peephole. He recognized Janie from Chelsea's classes and opened the door to admit the young girl and her father. He disabled the alarm for the time being and invited Janie and her father in. Unsure of the proper etiquette for dropping off teenagers - if there was one - he stood near the doorway and chatted for a few minutes, before the older man excused himself and left.

He turned back into the room just in time to see the two teens disappear into Chelsea's room, followed by a squeal that nearly had him racing to the room. He'd only gotten two steps when he heard the follow up: "Chelsea, your room is amazing."

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and went to the kitchen to retrieve his coffee.

Saturday Evening:

Sandra, Kelly and Danielle had arrived shortly after Janie, and the girls had quickly taken over the living room, ordered out three times, were on their fifth movie, and had consumed so much soda he was afraid one of them was going to blast through the ceiling at any moment from the sugar rush.

For the moment they were quietly experimenting with hair and makeup. Reid had decided to hide in his bedroom with his laptop and the cat when they had started. He knew enough from being around JJ, Prentiss and Garcia that one wrong word concerning hair and makeup could leave a man maimed. In this case he expected it could be worse - tears. He did not want to deal with teenage tears.

He cringed as yet another teenage squeal came from the other room. So far there hadn't been any complaints from the neighbors, but it was starting to get late and he really didn't want any. He pushed Crookshanks off his lap and went to the bedroom door, "Hey, girls, it's time to quiet down. Mrs. Bellamy next door goes to bed at ten, and if you keep her up, I won't be getting any cookies for Christmas."

"Mrs. Bellamy makes cookies?"

"Mrs. Bellamy makes outstanding cookies. You will not believe how good they are. So keep it down, I want my cookies."

"Okay. One more movie?"

He looked at the clock on the wall, "One more movie. I want you guys sleeping by midnight," his words were met by a chorus of affirmative responses that he didn't believe for one second. He retreated back to his room, moved the cat out of his spot and climbed back on the bed to finish the term paper for the philosophy course he'd just started. JJ had assured him they should fall asleep sometime around two, maybe three a.m., he had plenty of time.

Sunday Morning:

Reid woke slowly to the push of a furry head nudging his chin. He tried to push the cat away, but that was easier said than done. The feline simply wound around his arm and mrowed loudly. "Shhh, you'll wake them up."

"Mrow."

"Okay, okay. I'll get your breakfast, but you have to be quiet."

"Mrow."

"Come on." Reid stood up and headed for the bedroom door. He wasn't sure when he'd started talking to the cat, and was a bit disturbed that it seemed to be talking back to him, but he had to admit he liked having the big orange furball around. He stepped out of his room and carefully picked his way around the sleeping bodies on the floor on his way to the kitchen.

He made it to the kitchen without waking any of the girls and measured out Crookshanks' breakfast. He looked at the coffeepot and debated: If he started coffee it might wake the girls up, he could have a soda, but he really preferred his coffee in the morning. Then there was the question of how much to make; Chelsea had coffee with him some mornings, but he didn't know whether the other girls would want some. He decided to go ahead and make the coffee - if it woke them up that was just too bad, he certainly hadn't told them to stay up till four a.m.

He decided to make a full pot and hope Murphy's Law would work in his favor, if he made enough for all the girls to have some, they'd stay asleep and he could enjoy the peace and quiet for just a few minutes longer.

AN: Well, it's a little short, but hopefully sweet.


	16. Consult

AN: I'm late,  but this chapter just wouldn't come until Chelsea started ... well, being a teenager and the case started developing.

CONSULT

"Hey, Reid." Reid had stepped into the hallway outside Chelsea's classroom when he felt the phone vibrate in his pocket, "what's up?"

"Are you bored of high school yet?"

"JJ, I was bored of high school by the time I got out of there the first time. I've finished all my course work for all my classes this semester, read all Chelsea's coursework for this semester and written three articles to submit for publication. The school has wireless Internet in the classrooms so I'd do some research, but the school firewalls won't let any information in that even remotely falls into a work category."

"Oh, Poor Baby. So, does that mean you're up for doing an evening consult? I've got a serial rapist case out of Hawaii. The lead detective contacted the Bureau and they contacted me. They seem to have done a good job on the investigation, but they've hit a wall on behavioral aspects. The lead detective works second shift, starts at noon their time."

"Hawaii's five hours behind D.C., so he's not starting till five o'clock our time. Morgan wants to go home tonight; right?"

"Bingo." She didn't even think to question the fact that Reid just knew what time zone Hawaii was in.

"Have you talked to them yet?"

"Not yet, I just got the file. It's about five a.m. there now, I doubt either of them will be up, but the Bureau guy sent an e-mail address with a note that he checks it hourly during the day, or I could call and leave a message."

""No, just send me his e-mail and phone, I'll leave him a message. I promised Chels we could stop by the hospital tonight, so we won't get home till about six, that should give him enough time to contact the lead detective and get ready for a videoconference."

"Great. I'll have Garcia e-mail you the file -- no, firewalls, huh? I'll have Garcia send everything to your phone. You'll have to figure out how to get it on your laptop."

"That's not a problem, I've got my USB cord with me."

JJ laughed, "You know, Spence, one of these days I'm going to dump that messenger bag just to see exactly what you've got in there."

"Why? It's nothing interesting." Reid was genuinely puzzled, why would JJ care what was in his messenger bag?

JJ just laughed, "Never mind. I'll have Garcia send you the file."

&&&&&&

Reid sat in the corner of his father's and stepmother's hospital room and listened with half an ear as Chelsea told them about the slumber party Spencer had let her have over the weekend. He hadn't been able to put much effort into conversing with the two patients, yet he couldn't seem to just drop Chelsea off for the near-daily visits either.

Sometimes his father or Carly would engage him in conversation and he would participate. They were both excellent conversationalists, well-educated on a variety of subjects.

He'd read close to fifty of the three hundred and ninety-six letters that his father had mailed to him - and his mother had sent back marked "moved, no forwarding address." He wanted to be angry with her, but he'd always found that impossible. And after all this time the chances of getting any kind of real answer for her actions would be impossible.

The letters, so far, had held little of importance: Sometimes a mention of having looked for Spencer in the park; praise for his grades at report card time; once a mention of having attended his science fair and admiring his project. So far there had been no explanation for why he hadn't just driven to the school and said hello, taken him out for lunch, taken him to a museum.

Each letter, however, did contain a phone number, and the envelopes, of course, contained his return address. If Spencer had received even one letter, he would have been able to contact his father. He wondered whether he would have. Certainly in the first few weeks he would have, but by the time the twentieth letter had been written? The fifty-second, marking one year of absence? At eleven years old would have declared weekly letters that never arrived as too little too late?

At twenty-six would he declare weekly letters that had never arrived as too little too late? He just didn't know yet. He looked at his sister, talking animatedly to her mother and knew that whatever he felt he had to try to form some sort of relationship with his father and stepmother. He doubted - no, he knew - it would ever be perfect, but it could at least be civil, and hopefully, sometime soon, friendly.

&&&&&&

Reid sat down at his computer with a plate of curried chicken and waited for the agent and officer in Honolulu to sign in. School lunches had improved since he was a student but not nearly enough and he was starving, he really wanted to take a few bites of his chicken before the videoconference started, but Murphy's law said the second he did, one of the two men in Hawaii would sign on and he'd be left mumbling with his mouth full - not the first impression he wanted to make.

Suddenly the computer dinged and a face appeared on his screen, "Hello, Dr. Reid."

Reid quickly identified the FBI logo behind the agent and knew who he must be speaking to, "Hello, Agent Makoa. Will Officer Wakao be able to join us?"

"He should be on any second, I was just on the phone with him."

The computer dinged again and Reid's screen split to show a second man. He introduced himself and jumped right to the point.

"I've got the files you sent to our liaison, but I'd like to see the rest of your files, before starting the profile. And if possible I'd like to speak to the victims. I know it will be awkward for them doing it this way, but it will be very helpful for me to see their reactions for myself."

"I'm sure it can be arranged. They've been very cooperative. I can try to get them here this time tomorrow." Officer Wakao volunteered to contact the three victims and ask that they come in the next day.

"I also need to see all the reports you have: Crime scene; first officer; EMS; toxicology; and see if you can get medical releases so I can see the full medical reports, not just the rape kit."

"I've got everything except the medical releases, I thought you'd want the full file, so I had everything scanned in. I'll e-mail it now?"

"Great. I'm ready anytime. One of the other things we need to look at is precursors, the rapist wasn't always a rapist, he would have started with smaller crimes. He takes their shoes, that's a fairly unique signature. We need to look for other crimes where the shoes were stolen. Break-in, assaults without rape -- Chelsea, I asked you to stay in the kitchen."

"Sooorry, I left my bookbag in here."

"Just go back in the kitchen and finish your dinner."

"Sorry, about that. My sister's staying with me, and -- well, she's a teenager, what can I say?

"Most serials are between twenty-five and thirty-five, have someone run the database, go back ten years and look for lesser crimes: Peeping Toms; exposure; thefts of shoes including shoplifting."

"But if he's twenty-five, ten years ago he would have been a juvie, the records'll be sealed."

"His records will be. The incident files should still be accessible. It'll help with the geographic profile. A lot of people never move more than a few miles from where they're born. If we can find a pattern, when we get a suspect, we'll be able to place him near the location of the incidents. If he has moved, we'll be able to show the comfort zone moving with him. It's very convincing to a jury when they can see the patterns linked to an individual for an extended period of time."

"All right. I'll get our tech on that right away."

"If she needs any help have her contact Penelope Garcia at Quantico." His computer dinged, signaling the arrival of the files. He opened a screen on the bottom of his monitor to open the e-mail file. "I've got the file, just let me get it scanned and loaded here, and I'll take a look.

"Are you still holding any of the crime scenes?"

Officer Wakao answered this time, "Actually, all three are still sealed."

"It's been three months since the first rape, you've been able to hold a scene in a hotel that long?"

"The first victim is the hotel owner's daughter, Leialoha Keahi. Her father's sworn to do anything he can to help the investigation. He's closed down all three rooms and says he'll hold them as long as it takes."

"Great. It's three separate hotels, the same man owns all three?"

"Yes, is that significant?"

"Yes, very. I'll need to get figures, but unless it's a case of every other hotel in Maui being owned by one man, the fact that they are is very significant. It leads me to believe that the stressor involves the hotel chain, the man or the first victim. Probably some combination thereof.

"See if you can get the employment records. We're looking for anybody fired or laid off in the six months prior to the first rape. Pay particular attention to anybody who was fired for misconduct involving females guests or theft from rooms."

"Theft?"

"Back to the shoes, employment records probably won't be specific as to what was stolen, so start with any thefts.

"We also need to do background checks on the current male employees, especially any that have transferred from one hotel to another, or whose job takes them to the different hotels, say quality inspections, management audits, anything like that. Also look at supply companies, see if any truck drivers have routes that would bring them to all of the hotels."

He could see both men writing furiously, taking notes on everything he was asking them to do. He heard movement behind him and spun around, "Chelsea, I asked you to stay in the other room until I was finished here."

"There's nothing to do in there. I ate, did the dishes and finished my homework. Now I'm just going to my room."

"Fine. Go. Call Janie or something."

"All right, fine. You won't see me again."

"Sorry about that. She's not usually like this."

"She's not used to you working while she's there?"

"No, this is the first time, since she's come to live with me. She's still getting used to things.

"The file's finished loading, give me a minute to look at it."

Reid opened the file to full screen and concentrated on the screen. Garcia had modified his computer and e-mail programs so that after her super-duper anti-bad-stuff program scanned the attachments, they all lined up neatly so that he could hit the scroll button and read through all the information at once. It was much faster than opening each attachment or file separately. He was able to read the hundred pages or so of notes and photographs in less than two minutes. I want to examine the photos more closely, but the investigation looks clean. I do have a question on the third page of the toxicology report on the third victim - did the drug of choice change or were you able to get the blood sample faster?"

Officer Wakao answered that one. "After the second rape, we were pretty sure he was using some type of drug that dissipates quickly, the victim was showing symptoms that aren't explained by the ones we found, so I ordered all EMS to take blood at the scene of any and all rapes. So, you can figure the third blood sample was taken close to half an hour faster than the first two."

"That's good, it actually tells us a lot about the unsub.

"The other thing is I think we have a fourth victim out there."

"What? Why?"

"Look at the dates of the attacks: August 31st, September 30th, November 28th - if I'm right, there's a victim on October 29th who didn't come forward and/or was able to fight him off. That could be why the addition of the GHB, if it wasn't actually used in the first two attacks. And it means that barring an extraneous stressor to the unsub, the next attack will be on December 27th. There's a reason for the dates; he may be counting down to something, or there's something that happens in his life on that schedule."

"So, we've got less than two weeks to stop him before he hits again?"

Reid nodded solemnly, "Yes. Check with the doctors who treated the victims to see if the first two exhibited symptoms of GHB poisoning or any other date rape drugs. And check with all the hotels - not just this chain - to see if there was any unusual disturbances on October 29th: noise coming from a room; damages found the next day; a single woman checking out early, with or without an explanation; a door found unlocked; any report of break-ins or Peeping Toms or prowlers; complaints of a bellhop losing a pair of shoes; any police reports of a physical assault - find out about absolutely anything out of the ordinary on that date, then we can narrow it down and find our fourth victim."

"That's potentially a lot of incidents."

"It is, but we've got a few pieces of his signature to look at, so we'll be able to narrow it down by looking for those things. If she escaped, she may have seen something that can help us; if she didn't, she can give us more information about his behavior. Either way, it helps us. But first we have to find her."

"What about press conference?"

"Not yet. We don't want to cause a public panic, or stress the unsub."

"_**Why**_ don't we want to stress the asshole?'

"Because as it stands, we have almost two weeks to find him before he strikes again. If we stress him, it could cause him to escalate and attack another victim sooner."

"Okay. No press conference."

Reid looked longingly at his plate; he had a feeling his dinner was going to be cold long before he got the chance to eat it.

AN: I've gone back through all my reviews and looked at what you've told me you want to see, I've already hit most of them or have them in the outlines for future planned chapters, but I was wondering if there's anything anyone particularly wants to see?


	17. Talk

TALK

Reid disconnected the video link and carried his cold curry to the kitchen and put it in the microwave. "Might as well get this over with," he said aloud to himself. He walked over to Chelsea's room and knocked on the door.

"Yeah?"

"Could you come into the kitchen, please?" He phrased it as a request, but they both knew it wasn't.

He sensed she was about to start with a generic teenage, "What?" and pre-empted with, "Sit down. We need to talk about tonight.

"First, I'm going to talk and you're going to listen. When I'm finished I'll listen to what you have to say. Got it?"

Reid watched as she took a deep breath to start arguing the point - "I said got it?"

He watched her deflate, "Got it." He had to remind himself that she might be cute when she pouted, but he couldn't afford to let that sway his decisions.

"There are going to be times when I need to work here from home. My job requires it. That means I will be bringing files home: Confidential files; files with very violent and disturbing images in them. You do not need to be exposed to those files. The same goes for phone conversations and videoconferences. If I tell you I need privacy to work you will respect that. And if you don't there will be severe consequences.

"I didn't ask you to stay out of the living room tonight for no reason: I asked you to stay out of the living room, because you don't need to see or hear about the crimes I deal with. I asked you to stay out of the living room, because criminal investigations are confidential and information can't be released about them without good reason. I asked you to stay out of the living room out of respect for the victims of the crimes - it's not fair to them for 'some random kid' 4,833 miles away to hear the details of their assault when they may not have even told their closest friends or family; victims' identities are protected for a reason. I asked you to stay out of the living room, because in order to help solve a crime I need to be able to concentrate on the details, I can't be worrying if you're looking at crime scene photos - or worse the victim's injuries - over my shoulder.

"Do you understand all that?"

"Yes."

"Good. I don't want to fight with you, and I don't like playing the tough guy, but I can when I have to. If you disrupt my work like that again, you'll lose your cell phone."

"But --."

"No 'buts.' You're very attached to your phone, I think it's a pretty good incentive to sit in your room and talk to Janie instead of trying to see what I'm doing when I'm working.

"Now, I'll listen to what you have to say. Do you have a good reason for interrupting my work repeatedly?"

"I just wanted to see what you do." She hung her head a little and continued mumbling, "And I thought maybe I could do something to help."

"Chelsea, the best way for you to help is to do what I ask you to do. And if you want to learn about my job, that can be arranged. You can't have anything to do with active investigations, but I can tell you about the job in general, and there are training cases that I may be able to let you see. We use them for open seminars and recruiting lectures. Let me get approval from Hotch, and make sure they're age-appropriate, and maybe I can show you some this weekend."

"You don't have to dumb it down for me, I can --."

"I didn't say dumb it down. I said age-appropriate. I wouldn't let you watch an X-rated movie; I'm not showing you just 'X-rated' crime scene photos. There are plenty of crimes that don't involve -- that would be okay for you to see. Think of it this way, I don't want to show you anything you'll wish you could unsee."

"Now, why don't you head to bed, and I'm going to eat and go to sleep myself."

"Good-night."

"Good-night, I love you."

"Love you, too."


	18. Postholiday Party

POSTHOLIDAY PARTY

Reid circled Morgan's house twice before pulling into the driveway. He allowed himself a small smile at the knowledge that he'd never put nearly so much planning into _arriving_ at a party before, sure he'd agonized over whether or not what he was wearing was appropriate (he _liked_ vintage clothing, but some people seemed to think he didn't know how to dress himself in the morning) and he'd certainly rushed so he wouldn't be late, or too early, their first Christmas party he'd nearly not gone because he didn't have a date (Morgan hadn't let him, calling his apartment and telling Reid he'd be picking him up in twenty minutes and Reid had better not keep him waiting or they'd be late and Haley would be upset) but he'd never put anywhere near this much planning into actually _arriving_ at a party.

JJ and Hotch came out from behind the opposite directions after doing a final grounds check gave the all-clear, and Prentiss pulled in behind them and turned of her vehicle. He looked around the well-lit yard himself before getting out of the car and crossing to Chelsea's side. He opened the door and putting one arm around her guided her to the front door (which opened from within as they approached) and into the house.

He felt Morgan's hand touch his shoulder as they crossed the threshold and straightened and slowed, allowing Chelsea to continue into the living room without him. He smiled as he heard a squealed "Chessie" from Jack. Obviously Haley had relented and allowed Hotch to take the boy for their postholiday Christmas/New Year's/Valentine's day party. "So, have you heard the news yet?"

"The case?"

"Yeah, White Collar thinks they've got a solid lead on the person behind the guys who tried to nab Chelsea."

"How close are they?"

"Carson said maybe a week more. He and Hotch were holed up in Hotch's office for a good hour this afternoon. Hotch looked pretty serious when they came out."

"Hey, Morgan, make a hole." Morgan yanked the door back open from its nearly closed position at Emily's shout.

Morgan raised a brow at the stack of gifts in her arms, "Think you got enough gifts there, Bud?"

"Blame Chelsea, she wanted to make sure we got something special for everybody and something from each of us individually. Just wait until you see what she made everybody. She put a lot of effort into them."

JJ followed closely behind with a stack of nearly flat packages and Hotch brought up the rear with a large but light box with Jack's name on it. Morgan closed the door and followed them into the living room, where they joined Chelsea and Jack and Garcia and Kevin. "Where's Dave?"

"Back door," Morgan replied pointing toward the kitchen area.

He yelled to the older man, "Hey, Rossi, all clear."

Reid smirked when Rossi entered from the back of the house, the Santa hat perched on his head contrasted quite sharply with the bulletproof vest he (and the others) wore. Reid moved to Chelsea to help her removed the borrowed flak jacket before removing his own. She'd been tickled pink when he'd first shown it to her, that joy had quickly fled when she'd found out just how heavy the item was.

Morgan collected the vests and stacked them in a corner, "Well, do we want dinner first or presents?"

"Pesents!"

"Morgan, how many times have I told you to spell things like that around Jack?"

"Yeah, well, I guess we're doing pesents first."

&&&&&&

Rossi looked at the strange pile of presents at Reid's feet numerous times before finally commenting quietly on the strange theme he had noticed, "Okay, something obviously happened that I didn't hear about."

Reid froze for a split second before looking up from opening the far-too-brightly-colored pair of Joe Boxers from Prentiss, and tried his best I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about look on Rossi before lifting them up so JJ and Prentiss could see them from the other side of the living room, "Nothing I can think of."

"Reid, boxer shorts, a copy of _The Emperor's New Clothes_, the movie _Striptease_, and a long blond wig that's going to reach your knees are not presents that I would expect you to receive.

"Now, I can somewhat understand Morgan giving you _Striptease_, since he's been trying to get you to date more and that seems to fit his sense of humor, but JJ got you a children's book?"

"So, I can read it to Jack when he comes over."

"Mm-hmm. And exactly what explanation is there for the wig?"

"Garcia's been telling me I need a haircut."

"Riiiight. And Prentiss saw those boxers and thought of you because --?"

"She -- uh -- she's been after me to quit wearing brown so much."

"So, she bought you boxer shorts with dozens of bright-colored happy faces on them?"

"Hey, you know I don't understand why women do the things they do. Give me a psychotic serial killer any day."

"Okay. Now. Let's say I actually buy that malarkey for one minute. Explain why they each gave you two presents, but not anybody else."

Reid tried and failed to keep a straight face - a little time (and the two - or was it three - glasses of wine before dinner) had lessened his embarrassment greatly, and he acknowledged to himself that if it had happened to any of the others he'd have thought it was hilarious - "Maybe they like me best?"

"I'll find out, you know."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do."

Reid sighed in relief as he was saved from answering by Emily's cry of delight. She'd just opened Chelsea's gift and was delightedly showing it to the rest of the group. "Chelsea, how did you do this?"

Reid smiled as Chelsea described how the numerous phone calls she'd made in order to get the black and white photos of Emily's grandfather from Ambassador Prentiss so she could do the charcoal sketch.

One by one each portrait was opened and Chelsea explained her process and the artistic choices, acrylics of Garcia's brothers, with a brightly colored background; JJ's parents and brother in colored pencils, with her niece in the foreground wearing a Redskins jersey that JJ had given her last Christmas; a light pencil drawing of Jack for Hotch and a matching sketch of Hotch kissing Jack's forehead for the small boy; a pen and ink portrait of Morgan's mother and sister's for her "other new brother;" and the only one Reid worried about, an oil painting of Rossi's kids, Connie, George and Alicia, lined up in front of their grandmother's house - he hadn't seen Rossi interact with them himself, but Morgan had described the way Rossi had talked about and to them in Indianapolis, but as he watched Rossi discretely wipe away a tear he new the choice had been right.

And of course his own were already hanging on the wall at home, a charcoal drawing of his team and another of his mother lecturing to her students on the lawn of Bennington after lunch, Tristan and Isolde, he was sure.

Author's Note: Sorry, this update took so horribly long. The ending just refused to be written until just now when I realized I had to attack it from a different angle. I hope you like.


	19. Nightmare

NIGHTMARE

The sound of leaves crunching under his feet makes his heart skip a beat; he pauses afraid to take another step. The voices ahead continue arguing and he takes another step. There's two of them, they're arguing. He moves closer. He and JJ are outnumbered so he doesn't want to engage. He'd called to JJ to follow, she should be right behind him. If they can get an angle on the unsubs they might be able to bring them in, if not they'll be able to keep up surveillance until Hotch and the others show up. He cranes his neck this way and that, trying to get a visual on the unsubs. He can barely make out the back of Tobias Henkel, but can't see the other one at all. He should be able to see him.

Suddenly he hears JJ scream coming from behind him. The other one must have circled around and come up behind them. He breaks training and starts to run toward the sound of her voice. He hears gunshots. Three. Hotch always trains three shots, pause, three shots. He prays it's JJ doing the shooting, not the other unsub. But they sounded like they were coming from the other direction, damn cornstalks must be distorting the sound, he pauses for a split second to get his bearings, he can't help JJ if he takes off in the wrong direction.

He's on the ground scrabbling for his dropped weapon before his mind is able to process the pain of the blow to his jaw. He freezes as Henkel leaps over him and grabs the gun practically from his fingertips. He rolls to his back, raised up on his elbows - it's the most defensible position available to him. He needs to see Henkel to talk him down. As he starts to reason with the man, he sees something that strikes fear into his heart even more than the sight of his own gun pointed at him - he sees his first glimpse of Charles.

He feels himself begin to quiver as the Devil himself stares him down.

Tobias approaches him with a needle, the poison that would nearly destroy his life and he begs. "Please don't. Please don't. I can't. Not again."

He feels the pain, the two broken metatarsi, the giant bruise on his back mirrored by a bruised sternum and a broken rib from Tobias performing CPR. His mouth and lungs are filled with the stale stench of death, a killer's breath. His eyes are blurred from three days with no contact solution combined with a bit of a concussion, but he can still see the bullet in the revolver's chamber, he has two clicks to come up with some way to tell the team he's in a cemetery. His mind races it's way through the Bible as he refuses Raphael's demands to sign the death warrant of one of his friends. 'Think, think. Some passage with the words cemetery, some passage about burial?'

He has one click left, one chance, he has the passage, thank God he hadn't had to go past Genesis - but who will understand the message? It has to be Gideon or Hotch. They've studied the Bible as well as the Torah and the Qur'an. He had no clue how well Prentiss knew the Bible. JJ, as good as she was, wasn't a profiler, she'd gone to Sunday school every week as a child, but he needed a sure thing. Morgan had no interest in religion except as it met with work - someday maybe he'd find out why, for now he just accepted. Someday? Was there going to be a someday? Focus. Hotch! Narcissism! Spout Hotch's take on narcissism. Hotch had kicked the snot out of him a mere hour after they had had the debate over the signs and symptoms of narcissism, he'd remember. He had to remember. If he gave the definition he believed to be false, Hotch would see he was lying. He had to know. Reid couldn't bear to die with Hotch thinking he had marked him for death.

He finishes talking and sees Raphael lower the gun. It worked. Charles was the one who had been obsessed with the Bible; Raphael only knew what Charles had shoved down Tobias's throat. The real Charles Henkel would have caught his lie, but Tobias didn't, therefore Raphael didn't.

He jumps as Raphael raises the gun and fires over his head into the wall behind him. He waits silently - will Raphael leave now to go murder Hotch or will he bide his time. He watches as his friend's Raphael pushes a button and his friends' faces appear on the screen. JJ and Penelope are crying. Morgan looks like he wants to crawl through the computer screen and beat something to death - and oh, how he wished that could really happen. He sees Hotch still, then rush from the room. There was no anger on his face, no fear either. Gideon follows him, then the rest. Raphael turns the camera off; he switches the monitors to his other victims. Hotch is temporarily out of his sight, out of his mind, he has other 'sinners' to watch. 'Sinners' who are in the room with their computers.

Suddenly Tobias is approaching him again. He has the needle out. Reid waits anxiously as the belt is tightened around his arm, as the veins begin to pop. He smiles a little as Tobias confirms that they _are_ in a cemetery, his clue was good. He watches as the needle slides into his vein, the slight pinch feels wonderful, the drugs burns a little as it enters his body, but it's followed by the bliss, the freedom, the comfort - Charles isn't in that place where he goes, he can't reach him there. He feels a slight niggle of worry in the back of his mind - there's only a few substances that are physically addicting in so few doses, but he's pretty sure this is one of them. Between the physical need and the emotional he's not sure he'll ever be ale to escape this shack.

The world starts to gray out when suddenly he's pulled back by the pain: It's wrong, as it's happening he knows it's wrong, but this is the point when Charles begins to beat him. He knows begging for his life won't work. Charles has no human compassion left. He cries out for Tobias to save him anyway. He begs for his life. His head is whipped around as the blows rain down on him. The beating is always much more severe than, always last much longer, but it still ends the same. The chair falls. He feels the impact of the chair back against him, feels the impact against his heart. He feels his heart stop, his body begin to convulse, his vision grays as he loses consciousness, as the blackness takes him, as he dies.

*****

Chelsea watches as her brothers moans, tears run down his face, he mumbles random words, "don't," "please no," "I don't want it," - she doesn't know what 'it' is, or was, but it must have been terrible - "don't kill them," "please save me," he cries out for the members of his team and somebody named Gideon and a Tobias. Her heart breaks when she hears him calling out for his mom and dad.

She wants to rush over and shake him awake, but she remembers his warning. His warning that it could actually be dangerous to touch him during a nightmare. She hadn't fully believed him, thought he was exaggerating, but seeing him writhing on the couch when sleep should be holding him immobile and hearing the fear and desperation in his voice, she could easily see him waking up fighting for his life.

She also remembers his request: "Even if they seem bad, I'd rather sleep through them and not remember, than wake up to someone telling me 'it's only a dream.'"

She watched until he quieted, clutching a compliant Crookshanks to her chest and vowed to be really well-behaved for the rest of the day. She decided to start by making a fresh pot of coffee for him. And maybe ask him some trivia question about the original Star Trek series. She let Crookshanks down and headed for the kitchen.

Author's note 1: The next chapter will not be nearly so angsty. I promise.

Author's note 2: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I'm sorry I've taken so long to respond, but I will give individual responses to everybody.


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